OLDpBENEZER 
flHB 


OPIE  RE  A  a 


OLD  EBENEZER 


OPIE  READ) 


Authorof  "My  Young  Master,"  "The  Juckllns,"  "On  the  Suwance  River,' 

"A  Kentucky  Colonel,"  "A  Tennessee  Judge,"  "The  Colossus," 

"  Emmett  Bonlore."  '.'  Len  Gansett,"  "  The  Tear  In  The 

Cup,  and  Other  Stories,"  "The  Wives 

of  The  Prophet." 


ILLUSTRATED 


CHICAGO 
LAIRD  &  LEE.  PUBLISHERS 


COPYRIGHTED  1897 

BY 
WM.  H.  LEE 


CONTENTS 


Chapter  Page 

1.  Sam  Lyman,     .......  7 

2.  The  Noted  Advocate 14 

3.  The  Timely  Oracle 21 

4.  A  Fog  Between  Them 38 

5.  The  Belle  of  the  Town,           ....  49 
G.  Humbled  Into  the  Dust 55 

7.  The  Wedding  Breakfast 63 

8.  Suppressing  the  News 70 

9.  At  Church,        .......  83 

10.  The  Old  Fellow  Laughed 91 

11.  In  the  Lantern  Light,      ....  100 

12.  Wanted  to  Dream 112 

lij.  In  a  Magazine,          ......  122 

1  I.  Nothing  Remarkable  in  It,           ...  132 

15.  Must  Leave  the  Town, 143 

10.  Sawyer's  Plan,      .......  155 

17.  At  the  Creek, 164 

13.  At  the  Wagon  Maker's  Shop 174 

19.  A   Restless  Night, 181 

20.  Afraid  in  the  Dark 191 

21.  With  Old  Jasper 197 

22.  The"Boosy," 207 


Chapter  p.^ 

23.  After  an  Anxious  Night,           ....  222 

24.  At  Mt.  Zion, 235 

25.  At  Nancy's  Home,   ....  .219 

26.  Out  in  the  Dark, 202 

27.  The  Revenge,   .......  270 

28.  A  Gentleman  Mule-Buyer, 278 

29.  Gone  Away,      ......  29  i 

30.  The  Home,  ...,,.         .         .  306 

31.  There  Came  a  Check,      ....  316 

32.  Laughed  at  His  Weakness,           ....  326 

33.  The  Petition,  330 


OLD  EBENEZER. 


CHAPTER  I. 
SAM 


In  more  than  one  of  the  sleepy  neighborhoods 
that  lay  about  the  drowsy  town  of  Old  Ebenezer, 
Sam  Lyman  had  lolled  and  dreamed.  He  had 
come  out  of  the  keen  air  of  Vermont,  and  for  a  time 
he  was  looked  upon  as  a  marvel  of  energy,  but  the 
soft  atmosphere  of  a  southwestern  state  soothed 
the  Yankee  worry  out  of  his  walk,  and  made  him 
content  to  sit  in  the  shade,  to  wait  for  the  other 
man  to  come ;  and,  as  the  other  man  was  doing  the 
same  thing,  rude  hurry  was  not  a  feature  of  any 
business  transaction.  Of  course  the  smoothing  of 
Lyman's  Yankee  ruffles  had  taken  some  time.  He 
had  served  as  cross-tie  purchaser  for  a  new  rail 
way,  had  kept  books  and  split  slabs  for  kindling 
wood  at  a  saw  mill;  then,  as  an  assistant  to  the  pro 
prietor  of  a  cross-roads  store,  he  had  counted  eggs 

(7) 


8  OLD  EBENEZER 

and  bargained  for  chickens,  with  a  smile  for  a  ging 
ham  miss  and  a  word  of  religious  philosophy  for 
the  dame  in  home-spun.  But  he  was  now  less  act- 
.  .,  .  ive,  and  .already  he  had  begun  to  long  for  easier 
•'  employment;  so  he  "took  up"  school  at  forty  dol 
lars  a  nfonthV  In  the  Ebenezer  country,  the  school 
teacher  is  regarded  as  a  supremely  wise  and  hope 
lessly  lazy  mortal.  He  is  expected  to  know  all  of 
earth,  as  the  preacher  is  believed  to  know  all  of 
heaven,  and  when  he  has  once  been  installed  into 
this  position,  a  disposition  to  get  out  of  it  is 
branded  as  a  sacrilege.  He  has  taken  the  peda 
gogic  veil  and  must  wear  it.  But  Lyman  was  not 
satisfied  with  the  respect  given  to  this  calling;  he 
longed  for  something  else,  not  of  a  more  active  na 
ture,  it  is  true,  but  something  that  might  embrace 
a  broader  swing.  The  soft  atmosphere  had  turned 
the  edge  of  his  physical  energy,  but  his  mind  was 
eager  and  grasping.  His  history  was  that  dear 
fallacy,  that  silken  toga  which  many  of  us  have 
wrapped  about  ourselves — the  belief  that  a  good 
score  at  college  means  immediate  success  out  in 
the  world.  And  he  had  worked  desperately  to  fin 
ish  his  education,  had  taken  care  of  horses  and 


OLD  EI1ENEZER  9 

waited  upon  table  at  a  summer  resort  in  the  White 
Mountains.  His  first  great  and  cynical  shock  was 
to  find  that  his  "accomplishment"  certificate  was 
one  of  an  enormous  edition ;  that  it  meant  compara 
tively  nothing  in  the  great  brutal  world  of  trade; 
that  modesty  was  a  drawback,  and  that  gentleness 
was  as  weak  as  timidity.  And  repeated  failures 
drove  him  from  New  England  to  a  community 
where,  it  had  been  said,  the  people  were  less  sharp, 
less  cold,  and  far  less  exacting.  He  was  getting 
along  in  years  when  he  took  up  the  school — past 
thirty-five.  He  was  tall,  lean,  and  inclined  toward 
angularity.  He  had  never  been  handsome,  but 
about  his  honest  face  there  was  something  so 
manly,  so  wholesome,  so  engaging,  that  it  took  but 
one  touch  of  sentiment  to  light  it  almost  to  fasci 
nating  attractiveness.  Children,  oftener  than 
grown  persons,  were  struck  with  his  kindly  eyes; 
and  his  voice  had  been  compared  with  church  mu 
sic,  so  deep  and  so  sacred  in  tone;  and  yet  it  was 
full  of  a  whimsical  humor,  for  the  eyes  splashed 
warm  mischief  and  the  mouth  was  a  silent,  half  sad 
laugh. 

It  was  observed  one  evening  that  Lyman  passed 


10  OLD  EBENEZER 

the  post-office  with  two  sheep-covered  books  under 
his  arm,  and  when  he  had  gone  beyond  hearing, 
old  Buckley  Lightfoot,  the  oracle,  turned  to  Jim- 
mie  Bledsoe,  who  was  weighing  out  shingle  nails, 
and  said: 

"Jimmie,  hold  on  there  a  moment  with  your  clat 
ter." 

"Can't  just  now,  Uncle  Buckley.  Lige,  here,  is 
in  a  hurry  for  his  nails." 

"But  didn't  I  tell  you  to  hold  on  a  moment? 
Look  here,  Lige,"  he  added,  clearing  his  throat 
with  a  warning  rasp,  "are  you  in  such  a  powerful 
swivit  after  you've  heard  what  I  said?  I  ask,  are 
you?" 

"Well,"  Lige  began  to  drawl,  "I  want  to  finish 
coverin'  my  roof  before  night,  for  it  looks  mighty 
like  rain.  And  I  told  him  I  was  in  a  hurry." 

"You  told  him,"  said  the  old  man.  "You  did.  I 
have  been  living  here  sixty  odd  year,  and  so  far  as 
I  can  recollect  this  is  about  the  first  insult  flung  in 
upon  something  I  was  going  to  say.  Weigh  out 
his  nails  for  him,  Jimmie,  and  let  him  go.  But  I 
don't  know  what  can  be  expected  of  a  neighbor- 


OLD  EBENEZER  11 

hood  that  wants  to  go  at  such  a  rip-snort  of  a  rush. 
Weigh  out  his  nails,  Jimmie,  and  let  him  go." 

"Oh,  no!"  Lige  cried,  and  Jimmie  dropped  the 
nail  grabs  into  the  keg. 

"Oh,  yes,"  Uncle  Buckley  insisted.  "Just  go  on 
with  your  headlong  rush.  Go  on  and  don't  pay 
any  attention  to  me." 

"Jimmie,"  said  Lige,  "don't  weigh  out  them  nails 
now,  for  if  you  do  I  won't  take  'em  at  all." 

"Now,  Lige,"  the  old  man  spoke  up,  "you  are 
talking  like  a  wise  and  considerate  citizen.     And 
now,  Jimmie,  after  this  well  merited  rebuke,  are 
you  ready  to  listen  to  what  I  was  going  to  say?" 
"I  am  anxious  and  wraiting,"  Jimmie  answered. 
"All  right,"  the  old  oracle  replied.     He  cleared 
his  throat,  looked  about,  nodded  his  head  in  the 
direction  taken   by   Sam    Lyman,   and   thus   pro 
ceeded:     "Observation,  during  a  long  stretch  of 
years,  has  taught  me  a  great  deal  that  you  younger 
fellows  don't  know.    Do  you  understand  that?" 
"We  do,"  they  assented. 

"Well  and  good,"  the  old  man  declared,  nodding 
his  head.    "I  say  well  and  good,  for  well  and  good 


OLD  EBENEZER 

is  exactly  what  I  mean.     You  know  that's  whstf  1 
mean,  don't  you,  Jimmie?" 

"Mighty  well,  Uncle  Buckley." 

"All  right;  and  how  about  you,  Lige?" 

"I  know  it  as  well  as  I  ever  did  anything," 
Lige  agreed. 

"Well  and  good  again,"  said  the  old  man.  "And 
this  leads  up  properly  to  the  subject.  You  boys 
have  just  seen  Sam  Lyman  pass  here.  But  did  you 
notice  that  he  had  law  books  under  his  arm?" 

"I  saw  something  under  his  arm,"  Jimmie  an 
swered. 

"Ah,"  said  the  old  man,  tapping  his  forehead. 
"Ah,  observation,  what  a  rare  jewel!  Yes,  sir,  he 
had  law  books,  and  what  is  the  meaning  of  this 
extraordinary  proceeding  It  means  that  Sam  Ly 
man  is  studying  law,  and  that  his  next  move  will 
be  to  break  away  from  the  school-teaching  busi 
ness." 

"Impossible,"  Lige  cried. 

The  old  man  shook  his  head.  "It  might  seem 
so  to  the  unobservant,"  he  replied,  "but  in  these 
days  of  stew,  rush  and  fret,  there  is  no  telling  what 
men  may  attempt  to  do.  Yes,  gentlemen,  he  is 


OLD  EBENEZER  13 

studying  law,  and  the  first  thing  we  know  he  will 
leave  Fox  Grove  and  try  to  break  into  the  town  of 
Old  Ebenezer.  And  it  is  not  necessary  for  me  to 
point  out  the  danger  of  leaving  this  quiet  neighbor 
hood  for  the  turmoil  and  ungodly  hurry  of  that 
town.  Now  you  can  weigh  out  the  nails,  Jimmie." 


CHAPTER  II. 
NOTED  ADVOCATE. 

Lyman  must  long  have  indulged  his  secret  study 
before  the  observation  of  old  Buckley  Lightfoot 
fell  upon  it,  for,  at  the  close  of  the  school  term  a  few 
weeks  later,  the  teacher  announced  that  he  had 
formed  a  co-partnership  with  John  Caruthers,  the 
noted  advocate  of  Old  Ebenezer,  and  that  together 
they  would  practice  law  in  the  county  seat.  He 
offered  to  the  people  no  opportunity  to  bid  him 
good-bye,  for  that  evening,  with  his  law  library  un 
der  his  arm,  he  set  out  for  the  town,  twenty  miles 
away.  Old  Uncle  Buckley,  Jimmie  and  Lige  fol 
lowed  him,  but  he  had  chosen  a  trackless  path,  and 
thus  escaped  their  reproaches. 

The  noted  advocate,  John  Caruthers,  had  an 
office  in  the  third  story  of  a  brick  building,  which 
was  surely  a  distinction,  being  so  high  from  the 
ground  and  in  a  brick  house,  too.  There  he  spent 
his  time  smoking  a  cob  pipe  and  waiting  for  clients. 
His  office  was  a  small  room  at  the  rear  end  of  the 

(14) 


OLD  EBENEZER  15 

building.  The  front  room,  the  remainder  of  the 
suite,  was  a  long  and  narrow  apartment,  occupied 
by  the  Weekly  Sentinel,  the  county  newspaper, 
published  by  J.  Warren,  not  edited  at  all,  and  writ 
ten  by  lawyers  and  doctors  about  town.  The  great 
advocate  paid  his  rent  with  political  contributions 
to  the  newspaper,  and  the  editor  discharged  his 
rental  obligations  by  supporting  the  landlord  for 
congress,  a  very  convenient  and  comforting  ar 
rangement,  as  Caruthers  explained  to  Lyman. 

"I  don't  see  how  we  could  be  more  fortunately 
situated,"  said  he,  the  first  night  after  the  co-part 
nership  had  been  effected.  "What  do  you  think 
of  it?" 

"I  don't  know  that  I  could  improve  on  an  ar 
rangement  that  doesn't  cost  any  money,"  Lyman 
answered.  He  sat  looking  about  the  room,  at  the 
meager  furniture  and  the  thin  array  of  books. 
"We've  got  a  start,  anyway,  and  I  don't  think  Web 
ster  could  have  done  anything  without  a  start.  Are 
all  these  our  books?" 

"Yes,"  said  Caruthers,  shaking  his  sandy  head. 
"That  is,  they  are  ours  as  long  as  they  are  here. 
Once  in  awhile  a  man  may  come  in  and  take  one; 


16  OLD  EBENEZER 

but  the  next  day,  or  the  next  minute,  for  that  mat 
ter,  we  can  go  out  and  get  another.  The  Old 
Ebenezer  bar  has  a  circulating  library."  He 
yawned  and  continued:  "I  think  we  ought  to  do 
well  here,  with  my  experience  and  your  learning. 
They  tell  me  you  can  read  Greek  as  well  as  some 
people  can  read  English." 

"Yes,  some  people  can't  read  English." 

"I  guess  you  are  right,"  Caruthers  laughed. 
"But  they  say  you  can  read  Greek  like  shelling 
corn,  and  that  will  have  a  big  effect  with  a  jury. 
Just  tell  them  that  the  New  Testament  was  written 
in  Greek,  and  then  give  them  a  few  spurts  of  it,  and 
they've  got  to  come.  I  had  a  little  Latin  and  I  did 
very  well  with  it,  but  a  fellow  came  along  who 
knew  more  of  it  than  I  did  and  crowded  me  out  of 
my  place." 

Just  then  the  editor  came  in.  He  looked  about, 
nodded  at  Lyman,  whom  he  had  met  earlier  in  the 
day,  and  then  sat  down,  with  a  sigh. 

"Well,  I  have  got  a  good  send  off  for  you  fellows 
— already  in  type,  but  I  lack  eighty  cents  of  having 
money  enough  to  get  my  paper  out  of  the  ex 
press  office." 


OLD  EBENEZER  17 

No  one  said  anything,  for  this  w,  sad  ne\vs. 
Warren  continued:  "Yes,  I  lack  jw.'c  eighty  cents. 
It's  about  as  good  a  notice  as  I  ever  read,  and  it's 
a  pity  to  let  it  lie  there  and  rust.  Of  course  I 
wouldn't  ask  either  of  you  for  the  money:  That 
wouldn't  look  very  well.  Eighty  cents,  two  forties. 
I  could  go  to  some  of  the  advertisers,  but  an  adver 
tiser  loses  respect  for  a  paper  that  needs  eighty 
cents." 

"Warren,"  said  Caruthers,  "I'd  like  to  see  your 
paper  come  out,  for  I  want  to  read  my  roast  on  the 
last  legislature,  but  I  haven't  eighty  cents." 

Lyman  sat  looking  about  with  a  dozing  laugh 
on  his  lips:  "Are  you  sure  you'll  not  need  eighty 
cents  every  week?"  he  asked. 

The  editor's  eyes  danced  a  jig  of  delight.  "I 
may  never  need  it  again,"  he  declared. 

"Well,  but  how  often  are  you  going  to  print  a 
notice  of  the  firm?" 

"I  don't  know.    Why?" 

"Well,  I  didn't  know  but  your  paper  might  get 
stuck  in  the  express  office  every  time  you  have 
something  about  us.  It's  likely  to  go  that  way, 
you  know.  I've  got  a  few  dollars — " 


18  OLD  EBENEZER 

The  editor  grabbed  his  hand:  "I  want  to  wel 
come  you  to  our  town,"  he  cried.  "You  come  here 
with  energy  and  new  life.  Now,  Caruthers,  what 
the  deuce  are  you  laughing  at?  You  know  that 
no  one  appreciates  a  man  of  force  and  ideas  more 
than  I  do.  Just  let  me  have  the  eighty,  Mr.  Ly- 
rnan,  for  I've  got  a  nigger  ready  to  turn  the  press. 
Now,  I'm  ten  thousand  times  obliged  to  you,"  he 
effusively  added  as  Lyman  gave  him  the  money. 

He  hastened  out  and  Caruthers  leaned  back  with 
a  lazy  laugh.  "He  told  the  truth  about  needing  the 
money.  I've  known  his  paper  to  be  stuck  in  the 
throat  of  the  press,  and  all  for  the  want  of  fifty 
cents.  I'm  glad  you  let  him  have  it.  He's  not  a 
bad  fellow.  He  lives  in  the  air.  Every  time  he 
touches  the  earth  he  gets  into  trouble." 

"So  do  we  all,"  Lyman  replied,  "and  nearly  al 
ways  on  account  of  money.  I  wish  there  wasn't 
a  penny  in  the  world." 

"Sometimes  there  isn't,  so  far  as  I  am  con 
cerned,"  Caruthers  said.  "No,  sir,"  he  added, 
"they  keep  money  out  of  my  way.  And  I  want  to 
tell  you  that  I'm  not  a  bad  business  man,  either. 
But  I'm  close  to  forty  and  haven't  laid  up  a  cent, 


OLD  EBENEZER  19 

and  nothing  that  I  can  ever  say  in  praise  of  myself 
can  overcome  that  fact.  I  don't  see,  however,  why 
you  should  be  a  failure.  You  have  generations  of 
money  makers  behind  you/' 

"Yes,  hundreds  of  years  behind  me,"  said  Ly- 
man.  "And  the  vein  was  worked  out  long  before 
I  came  on.  There  is  no  failure  more  complete  than 
the  one  that  comes  along  in  the  wake  of  success. 
But  I  am  not  going  to  remain  a  failure.  I'll  strike  it 
after  awhile." 

"I  think  you  have  struck  it  now,"  replied  Caru- 
thers.  "Business  will  liven  up  in  a  day  or  two. 
When  a  thing  touches  bottom  it  can't  go  any  fur 
ther  down,  but  it  may  rise." 

"Yes,"  said  Lyman,  "unless  it  continues  to  lie 
there." 

"But  we  must  stir  it  up/'  Caruthers  declared. 
"We've  got  the  enterprise  all  right — we've  got  the 
will,  and  now  all  that's  needed  is  something  for  us 
to  take  hold  of." 

"That's  about  so,"  Lyman  agreed.  "Unless  a 
man  has  something  to  lift,  he  can  never  find  out 
how  strong  he  is." 

And  thus  they  talked  until  after  the  midnight 


20  OLD  EBENEZER 

hour,  until  Caruthers,  his  feet  on  a  table,  his  head 
thrown  back,  his  pipe  between  the  fingers  of  his 
limp  hand,  fell  asleep.  Lyman  sat  there,  more 
thoughtful,  now  that  he  felt  alone.  At  the  thresh 
old  of  a  new  venture,  we  look  back  upon  the  hopes 
that  led  us  into  other  undertakings,  and  upon  many 
a  failure  we  bestow  a  look  of  tender  but  half  re 
proachful  forgiveness.  The  trials  and  the  final  suc 
cess  of  other  men  make  us  strong.  And  with  his 
mild  eyes  set  in  review,  Lyman  thought  that  never 
before  had  he  found  himself  so  well  seasoned,  so 
well  prepared  to  do  something.  He  listened  to  the 
grinding  of  the  press,  to  the  midnight  noises  about 
the  public  square,  the  town  muttering  in  its  sleep. 
"I  am  advancing"  he  mused,  looking  about  him. 
"I  was  not  content  to  skimp  along  in  New  Eng 
land,  nor  to  buy  cross-ties,  nor  to  singe  the  pin 
feathers  off  a  chicken  at  night,  nor  to  worry  with 
the  feeble  machinery  of  a  dull  schoolboy's  head. 
And  I  will  not  be  content  merely  to  sit  here  and 
wait  for  clients  that  may  never  come.  I  am  going 
to  do  something." 


CHAPTER  III. 
TIMELY  ORACLE. 

A  year  passed  by.  Caruthers  dozed  with  his  cob 
pipe  between  the  fingers  of  his  limp  hand,  waiting 
for  clients  whose  step  was  not  heard  upon  the  stairs. 
But  the  office  had  not  been  wholly  without  busi 
ness.  Once  a  man  called  to  seek  advice,  which  was 
given,  free,  as  an  advertisement  for  more  work 
from  his  neighborhood,  and  once  Lyman  had  de 
fended  a  man  charged  with  the  theft  of  a  sheep. 
The  mutton  was  found  in  the  fellow's  closet  and  the 
hide  of  the  animal  was  discovered  under  his  bed; 
and  with  such  evidence  against  him  it  was  not  ex 
pected  that  a  lawyer  could  do  much,  so,  when  the 
prisoner  was  sentenced  to  the  penitentiary,  Caru 
thers  congratulated  his  partner  with  the  remark: 
"That  was  all  right.  We  can't  expect  to  win  every 
time.  But  we  were  not  so  badly  defeated;  you  got 
him  off  with  one  year,  and  he  deserved  two.  To 
cut  a  thief's  sentence  in  two  ought  to  help  us." 

"Among  the  other  thieves,"  Lyman  suggested. 

(21) 


ZZ  OLD  EBENEZER 

*rOh,  yes,"  Caruttiers  spoke  up  cheerfully.  "A 
lawyer's  success  depends  largely  upon  his  reputa 
tion  among  thieves." 

"Or  at  least  among  the  men  who  intend  to 
stretch  the  law.  Let  me  see;  we  have  been  in  busi 
ness  together  just  one  year,  and  our  books  balance 
with  a  most  graceful  precision.  We  are  systematic, 
anyway." 

"Yes,"  Caruthers  replied,  letting  his  pipe  fall  to 
the  floor,  "system  is  my  motto.  No  business,  prop 
erly  systematized,  is  often  better  than  some  busi 
ness  in  a  tangle." 

Warren,  the  editor,  appeared  at  the  door.  "Are 
you  busy?"  he  asked. 

"Well,  we  are  not  in  what  you  might  call  a  rush," 
Lyman  answered.  "Are  you  busy?"  he  inquired, 
with  a  twinkle  in  his  eye. 

Before  answering,  Warren  stepped  into  the  room 
and  sat  down  with  a  distressful  sigh.  "I  am  more 
than  that,"  he  said,  dejectedly.  "I  am  in  hot  water, 
trying  to  swim  with  one  hand." 

"What's  the  trouble?" 

"Oh,  a  sort  of  summer,  fall,  spring  and  winter 
complaint."  He  took  out  a  note  book,  turned  over 


OLt»  EBENEZER  23 

the  leaves,  returned  it  to  his  pocket  and  said:     "I 
lack  just  sixty-five,  this  time." 
"Dollars?"  Lyman  asked. 

Warren    gave    him  a  quick,  reproachful    look. 
"Now,  Judge,  what  airs  have  I  ever  put  on  to  cause 
you  to  size  me  up  that  way?     Have  I  ever  shown 
any  tax  receipts?    Have  I  ever  given  any  swell  din 
ners?     Sixty-five  cents  is  the  amount  I  am  short, 
Judge,  and  where  I  am  to  get  it,  the  Lord  only 
knows.     My  paper  is  lying  over  yonder  in  the  ex 
press  office,  doing  no  good  to  anybody,  but  they 
won't  let  me  take   it  out  and   stamp   intelligence 
upon  it.     The  town  sits  gaping  for  the  news,  with  a 
bad  eye  on  me;  but  what  can  I  do  with  a  great 
corporation  arrayed    against  me?     For  sixty-five 
cents   I  could  get  the  paper  out,  and  it's  full  of 
bright  things.    The  account  of  your  defense  of  the 
sheep  thief  is  about  as  amusing  a  thing  as  I  ever 
read,  and  it  will  be  copied  all  over  the  country;  it 
would  put  a  nation  in  a  good  humor  irrespective  of 
party  affiliations,  but  sixty-five  millions  of  people 
are  to  be  cheated,  and  all  on  account  of  sixty-five 
cents,  one  cent  to  the  million." 

"Things  are  down  to  a  low  mark  when  you  have 


24  OLD  EBENEZER 

to  make  your  estimates  on  that  basis.     One  cent 
to  the  million,"  said  Lyman  with  a  quiet  laugh. 

"Distressful,"  Warren  replied.  "The  country 
was  never  in  such  a  fix  before.'  Why,  last  year 
about  this  time  I  raised  eighty  cents  without  any 
trouble  at  all." 

"Yes,"  said  Lyman,  "you  raised  it  of  me." 

"That's  a  fact,"  Warren  admitted.  "But  do  you 
think  the  country  is  as  well  off  now  as  it  was  then?" 

"Not  financially,  but  it  may  be  wiser." 

"Now,  look  here,  Judge,  am  I  to  accept  this  as 
an  insinuation?" 

"How  so?"  Lyman  asked,  looking  up,  his  eyes 
full  of  mischief. 

"Why,  speaking  of  being  wiser.  I  don't  know 
but  you  meant— well,  that  you  were  too  wise  to 
help  me  out  again.  You  can't  deny  that  the  notice 
of  the  partnership  was  all  right." 

"We  have  no  complaint  to  enter  on  that 
ground,"  C'aruthers  drawled.  «• 

"Pardon  me,  Chancellor,  but  it  wasn't  your  put- 
in,"  Warren  replied.  "Your  suggestions  are  worth 
money  and  you  ought  not  to  throw  them  away. 


OLD  EBENEZER  25 

But  the  question  is,  can  I  get  sixty-five  cents  out 
of  this  firm?" 

"Warren,"  said  Lyman,  "I  am  in  sympathy  with 
your  cheerful  distress." 

"But  are  you  willing  to  shoulder  the  debt  of 
sixty-five  millions  of  people?  Are  you  in  a  position 
to  do  that?" 

"No,"  Caruthers  drawled,  leaning  over  with  a 
strain  and  picking  up  his  pipe  from  the  floor. 

"Chancellor,"  said  the  editor,  "as  wise  as  you 
are,  your  example  is  sometimes  pernicious  and 
your  counsel  implies  evil." 

"Oh,  I  am  simply  speaking  for  the  firm,"  Caru 
thers  replied.  "As  an  individual  Lyman  can  do  as 
he  pleases  with  his  capital.  Come  in,  sir." 

Some  one  was  tapping  at  the  door,  and  Lyman, 
looking  around,  recognized  the  short  and  wheezing 
bulk  of  Uncle  Buckley  Lightfoot,  the  oracle.  He 
almost  tumbled  out  his  chair  to  grasp  the  old  fellow 
by  the  hand;  and  then,  smoothing  his  conduct,  he 
introduced  him,  with  impressive  ceremony. 

"Yes,  sir,"  said  the  old  man,  sitting  down  and 
looking  about,  "he  got  away  from  us  a  little  the  rise 
of  a  year  ago,  and  I  don't  think  Fox  Grove  has 


40  OLD  EBENEZER 

been  the  same  since  then;  and  it  is  a  generally  ac 
cepted  fact  that  the  children  don't  learn  more  than 
half  as  much.  Me  and  Jimmie  and  Lige  agreed  on 
this  point,  and  that  settled  it  so  far  as  the  commu 
nity  was  concerned.  And  Sammy,  we  hear  that 
you  have  got  to  be  a  great  lawyer.  A  man  came 
through  our  county  not  long  ago  and  boasted  of 
knowing  you,  and  a  lawyer  must  amount  to  a  good 
deal  when  folks  go  about  boasting  that  they  know 
him.  And  look  here,  my  wife  read  a  piece  out  of 
the  paper  about  you — yes,  sir,  read  it  off  just  like 
she  was  a  talkin';  and  when  she  was  done  I  'lowed 
that  maybe,  after  all,  you  hadn't  done  such  an  un 
wise  thing  to  throw  yourself  headlong  into  the  ex 
citement  of  this  town.  And  mother  she  said  that 
no  matter  where  a  man  went,  he  could  still  find  the 
Lord  if  he  looked  about  in  the  right  way,  and  I 
didn't  dispute  her,  but  just  kept  on  a  sittin'  there, 
a  wallopin'  my  tobacco  about  in  my  mouth.  Yes, 
sir;  I  am  powerful  tickled  to  see  you." 

Long  before  he  had  reached  the  end  of  his  ha 
rangue,  Warren  had  taken  hold  of  his  arm.  "It  was 
my  paper  your  wife  read  it  in,"  he  said  in  tones  as 
solemn  as  grace  over  meat.  "I  am  the  editor  of 


OLD  EBENEZER 


27 


the  paper,  and  two  dollars  will  get  it  every  week 
for  a  year." 

The  old  man  shrugged  himself  out  of  the  editor's 
imploring  clasp,  and  looked  at  him.  "Why,"  said 
he,  "y°u  don't  appear  to  be  more  than  old  enough 
to  have  just  come  out  of  the  tobacco  patch,  a  pick 
ing  off  worms,  along  with  the  turkeys.  But, 
in  the  excitement  of  the  town,  boys,  I  take  it,  are 
mighty  smart.  However,  my  sen,  I  ain't  got  any 
particular  use  for  a  paper,  except  to  have  a  piece 
read  out  of  it  once  in  awhile,  but  I'll  tell  you  what 
I'll  do.  If  you'll  agree  to  print  some  pieces  that 
Sammy  will  write  for  you,  I'll  take  your  paper.  He 
was  always  a  writin'  and  a  tearin'  it  up  when  he 
boarded  with  me,  and  I  was  sorry  to  see  him 
wastin'  his  labor  in  that  way  when 'he  mout  have 
been  out  in  the  woods  shootin'  squirrels;  so  if 
you'll  agree " 

"I  print  his  sketches  every  week,  and  some  of 
them  have  been  stolen  by  the  big  city  papers,"  the 
editor  cried,  unable  longer  to  restrain  himself. 

'Then  I  didn't  know  what  I  was  missin'.  Two 
dollars,  you  say?  Well,  here  you  are,  sir,  and  now 


28  OLD  EBENEZER 

you  just  rip  me  off  a  paper  every  week.     See  if 
that's  a  two  dollar  bill." 

"It's  a  five,"  Warren  gasped. 

"Glad  it's  that  much;  change  it,  please." 

"I'll  go  out  and  get  it  changed." 

"Don't  put  yourself  to  that  much  trouble.  Give 
it  to  Sammy  and  I  bet  he'll  change  it  in  a  jiffy,  for 
it  don't  take  a  lawyer  more  than  a  minute  to  do 
such  things." 

Caruthers  looked  up  with  a  squint  in  his  eye. 
"1  think,"  said  Lyman,  "that  we'd  better  let  him 
go  out  and  get  the  change;  that  is,  unless  my  part 
ner  can  accommodate  us." 

"I  have  nothing  short  of  a  twenty,"  Caruthers 
replied,  shutting  his  eyes. 

"Then  run  along,  son,  and  fetch  me  the  change," 
said  the  old  man.  "But  hold  on  a  minute,"  he 
added,  as  Warren  made  a  glad  lunge  toward  the 
door.  "Be  sure  that  the  money  changers  in  the 
temple  don't  cheat  you,  for  I  hear  they  are  a  bad 
lot,  and  me  and  Jimmie  and  Lige  have  agreed  that 
they  ought  to  have  been  lashed  out  long  ago." 

"They  have  never  succeeded  in  getting  any 
money  out  of  me,"  Warren  laughed;  and  as  he  was 


OLD  EBENEZER  29 

going  out  he  said  to  Lyman:  "I  am  going  to  flash 
this  five  in  the  face  of  the  Express  Company.  I 
didn't  know  before  that  your  pen  was  made  of  a 
feather  snatched  from  an  angel's  wing." 

"Yes,  sir,"  Uncle  Buckley  began,  looking  at  Ly 
man,  and  then  at  Caruthers,  "we  have  missed  him 
mightily.  Mother  says  he  was  the  most  uncertain 
man  to  cook  for  she  ever  run  across.  Sometime? 
he'd  eat  a  good  deal,  and  then  for  days,  while  he 
was  a  studyin'  of  his  law,  and  especially  when  he 
was  a  writin'  and  a  tearin'  up,  he  wouldn't  eat 
hardly  anything.  So  you  see  he  kept  things  on  the 
dodge  all  the  time,  and  that  of  itself  was  enough 
to  make  him  interestin'  to  the  women  folks.  We've 
had  it  pretty  lively  out  in  Fox  Grove.  The  neigh 
bors  all  wanted  me  to  split  off  and  go  along  with 
them  into  the  new  party,  but  I  told'  em  all  my  ribs 
was  made  outen  hickory  and  was  Andy  Jackson 
Democrat.  But  the  new  party  swept  everything  and 
got  into  power;  and  I  want  to  know  if  anybody 
ever  saw  such  a  mess  as  they  made  of  the  legisla 
ture." 

The  old   man   began  to  move  uneasily  and   to 
•  glance  about  with  an  anxious  expression  in  his  eye. 


3l/  OLD  EBENEZER 

"Sammy,"  said  he,  "of  course  I  know  you,  but  I 
ain't  expected  to  know  everybody." 

"Yes,"  said  Lyman,  smiling  at  him. 

"Well,  it  just  occurred  to  me  whether  I  wa'n't 
jest  a  little  brash  to  let  that  young  feller  off  with 
that  money.  In  the  excitement  of  the  town  he 
might  forget  to  come  back." 

"Don't  worry;  he'll  be  back.     There  he  comes 


now." 


Warren  came  in,  his  face  beaming,  and  gave  the 
old  man  the  money  due  him.  Uncle  Buckley 
looked  at  him  a  moment,  and  then,  with  an  air  of 
contrite  acknowledgment,  shook  his  head  as  he 
seriously  remarked : 

"I  done  you  an  injury  jest  now,  by  sorter  ques- 
tionin'  whether  you  wouldn't  run  off  with  that 
change,  and  I  want  to  ask  your  pardon." 

"Oh,  that's  all  right,"  Warren  laughed. 

"No,  it  ain't  all  right,  and  I  want  to  apologize 
right  here  in  the  presence  of " 

"All  right,  you  may  tie  it  on  as  a  ribbon  if  you 
want  to,  but  it  isn't  necessary.  Now  you  sit  over 
here  with  me  and  tell  me  all  about  yourself  and 
your  neighborhood,  for  I'm  going  to  give  you  a 


OLD  EBENEZER  31 

write-up  that'll  be  a  beauty  to  behold.  You  fellows 
go  ahead  with  your  nodding,  and  don't  pay  any 
attention  to  us.  But  you  want  to  listen.  Come  to 
my  sanctum,  Mr.  Lightfoot." 

"I  reckon  it's  safe,"  said  the  old  man,  following 
him.  Caruthers  turned  his  slow  eyes  upon  Lyman. 
"Has  that  old  fellow  got  any  money?"  he  asked. 

"Well,  he's  not  a  pauper." 

"Suppose  we  could  strike  him  for  a  hundred  for 
six  months?" 

"No,  he's  a  friend  of  mine." 

"But,"  said  Caruthers,  "if  we  are  going  to  raise 
money  we'll  have  to  borrow  from  friends.  Our 
enemies  won't  let  us  have  it." 

"That's  true,  but  our  enemies  in  protecting  them 
selves  should  not  be  permitted  to  drive  us  against 
our  friends.  That  old  man  would  let  me  have  every 
cent  he  has.  But  he  has  labored  more  than  forty 
years  for  his  competence,  and  I  will  not  rob  him 
of  a  penny." 

"Rob  him,"  Caruthers  spoke  up  with  energy. 
We'll  pay  him  back." 

"How?" 

"Oh,  you  know  how.     With  a  little  money  we 


82  OLD  EBENEZER 

can  get  a  start.  We  can  rent  an  office  on  the 
ground  floor,  and  then  business  will  come." 

"Yes,"  said  Lyman,  "but  I  don't  want  that  old 
man  to  be  mixed  up  in  the  excitement.  Suppose 
we  try  the  bank." 

"You  try  it.  McElwin  does  not  care  for  me  par 
ticularly.  Suppose  you  go  over  and  see  him.  Offer 
him  a  mortgage  on  our  library." 

"I'll  do  it.  Wait  until  Uncle  Buckley  has  been 
pumped;  I  want  to  bid  him  good-bye." 

"Go  through  there,  and  see  him  on  your  way 
out.  The  bank  will  be  closed  pretty  soon." 

"All  right.  But  don't  hang  a  hope  on  the  re 
sult." 

Lyman  shook  hands  with  Uncle  Buckley,  and 
then  went  across  the  street  to  the  First  National 
Bank,  the  financial  pride  of  Old  Ebenezer.  The 
low  brick  building  stood  as  a  dollar  mark,  to  be 
stared  at  by  farmers  who  had  heard  of  the  great 
piles  of  gold  heaped  therein,  and  James  McElwin, 
as  with  quick  and  important  step  he  passed  along 
the  street,  was  gazed  upon  with  an  intentness  al 
most  religious.  Numerous  persons  claimed  kin 
ship  with  him,  and  the  establishment  of  third  or 


OLD  EBENEZER  33 

fourth  degree  of  cousinhood  had  lifted  more  than 
one  family  out  of  obscurity.  The  bank  must  have 
had  a  surplus  of  twenty  thousand  dollars,  a  glaring 
sum  in  the  eyes  of  the  grinding  tradesmen  about 
the  public  square.  An  illustrated  journal  in  the 
East  had  printed  McElwin's  picture,  together  with 
a  brief  history  of  his  life.  The  biographer  called 
him  a  self-made  man,  and  gave  him  great  credit  for 
having  scrambled  for  dimes  in  his  youth,  that  he 
might  have  dollars  in  middle  life.  That  he  had 
once  gone  hungry  rather  than  pay  more  than  the 
worth  of  a  meal  at  an  old  negro's  "snack  house," 
was  set  forth  as  a  "sub-headed"  virtue.  He  had 
married  above  him,  the  daughter  of  a  neighboring 
"merchant,"  whose  name  was  stamped  on  every 
shoe  he  sold.  The  old  man  died  a  bankrupt,  but 
the  daughter,  the  wife  of  the  rising  capitalist,  re 
mained  proud  and  cool  with  dignity.  The  union 
was  illustrated  with  one  picture,  a  girl,  to  become 
a  belle,  a  handsome  creature,  with  a  mysterious 
money  grace,  with  a  real  beauty  of  hair,  mouth  and 
eyes.  The  envious  said  that  circumstances  served 
to  make  an  imperious  simpleton  of  her. 

It  was  this  man,  with  these  connections,  that  Ly* 


4  OLD  EBENEZER 

man  crossed  the  street  to  see.  But  to  the  lawyer 
it  was  not  so  adventurous  as  grimly  humorous. 
His  Yankee  shrewdness  had  pronounced  the  man 
a  pretentious  fraud. 

The  banker  was  in  his  private  office,  busy  with 
his  papers.  Lyman  heard  him  say  to  the  negro 
who  took  in  his  name:  "Mr.  Lyman!  I  don't 
know  why  he  should  want  to  see  me.  But  tell  him 
to  come  in." 

As  Lyman  entered  the  banker  looked  up  and 
said:  "Well,  sir." 

Lyman  sat  down  and  crossed  his  legs.  The 
banker  looked  at  his  feet,  then  at  his  head. 

"Mr.  McElwin,"  said  Lyman,  "we  have  not  met 
before,  though  I,  of  course,  have  seen  you  often, 
but " 

"Well,  sir,  go  on." 

"Yes,  that's  what  I  am  doing.  I  say  that  we 
have  not  met,  but  I  board  at  the  house  of  a  relative 
of  yours,  and  I  therefore  feel  that  I  know  you." 

"Board  with  a  relative  of  mine?"  the  banker 
gasped. 

"Yes,  with  Jasper  Staggs,  and  I  want  to  tell  you 
that  he  is  about  as  kind  hearted  an  old  fellow  as  I 


OLD  EBENEZER  35 

ever  met,  quaint  and  accommodating.  He  is  a  cou 
sin  of  yours,  I  believe." 

"Well, — er,  yes.  But  state  your  business,  if  you 
please.  I  am  very  busy." 

"I  presume  so,  sir,  but  I  am  afraid  that  my  busi 
ness  may  not  strike  you  in  a  very  favorable  way. 
I  want  to  borrow  one  hundred  dollars." 

"Upon  what  collateral,  sir?" 

"Mainly  upon  the  collateral  of  honor." 

The  banker  looked  at  him.  Lyman  continued: 
"I  feel  that  such  a  statement  in  a  bank  sounds  like 
the  echo  of  an  idle  laugh,  but  I  mention  honor  first, 
because  I  value  it  most.  I  also  have,  or  represent, 
a  law  library." 

"Is  it  worth  a  hundred  dollars?" 

"Well,  I  can't  say  that  it  is,  but  I  should  think 
that  the  library,  reinforced  by  my  honor,  is  worth 
that  much." 

The  banker  began  to  stroke  his  brown  beard. 
"So  you  have  come  here  to  joke,  sir " 

"Oh,  not  at  all,"  Lyman  broke  in,  "this  is  a  seri 
ous  matter." 

"It  might  be  if  I  were  to  let  you  have  the 
money." 


36  OLD  EBENEZER 

"That  isn't  so  bad,"  Lyman  laughed.  "But  seri 
ously,  I  am  in  much  need  of  a  hundred  dollars,  and 
if  you'll  let  me  have  it  for  six  months  I  will  pay  it 
back  with  interest." 

"I  can't  do  it,  sir." 

"You  mean  that  you  won't  do  it." 

"You  heard  me,  sir." 

"I  realize  the  bad  form  in  which  I  present  my 
case,  Mr.  McElwin,  and  I  know  that  if  you  had 
made  a  practice  of  doing  business  in  this  way  you 
would  not  have  beeen  nearly  so  successful,  but  I 
will  pledge  you  my  word  that  if  you  will  let  me 
have  the  money " 

"Good  day,  sir,  good  day." 

Lyman  walked  out,  not  feeling  so  humorous  as 
when  he  went  in.  He  looked  up  and  down  the 
dingy,  drowsy  street.  At  first  he  might  have  been 
half  amused  at  his  failure,  tickled  with  the  idea  of 
describing  it  to  Caruthcrs  and  the  newspaper  man, 
but  a  sense  of  humiliation  came  to  him.  He  knew 
that  in  the*  warfare  of  business  his  operation  was 
but  a  guerrilla's  dash,  and  he  was  ashamed  of  him 
self;  and  yet  he  reflected  that  his  great  enemy 
might  have  been  gentler  to  him,  He  walked  slowly 


OLD  E13ENE2ER  37 

down  the  street,  without  an  objective  point;  he 
passed  the  group  of  village  jokers,  sitting  in  front 
of  the  drug  store,  with  their  chairs  tipped  back 
against  the  wall;  he  passed  the  planing  mill,  with 
its  rasping  noise,  and  in  his  whimsical  fancy 
it  sounded  like  the  Town  Council  snoring. 
He  loitered  near  a  garden  where  plum  trees 
were  in  bloom;  he  looked  over  at  a  solemn 
child  digging  in  the  dirt;  he  caught  sight  of 
a  pale  man  with  the  mark  of  death  upon  him, 
lying  near  a  window,  slowly  fanning  himself. 
He  spoke  to  the  child  and  the  wretched  little 
one  looked  up  and  said:  "I  am  digging  a 
grave  for  my  pa."  Lyman  leaned  heavily  upon  the 
fence;  his  heart  was  touched,  and  taking  out  a  small 
piece  of  money  he  tossed  it  to  the  boy.  The  grave 
digger  took  it  up,  looked  at  it  a  moment  in  sad 
astonishment,  put  it  aside  and  returned  to  his  work. 
The  office  was  deserted  when  Lyman  returned. 
Caruthers  had  not  hung  a  hope  on  the  result  of  the 
attempted  negotiations. 


CHAPTER  IV. 
A  FOG  BETWEEN  THEM. 

The  following  afternoon  when  Lyman  went  to 
the  office,  having  spent  the  earlier  hours  in  the 
court  house,  to  assure  the  Judge  that  he  had  no 
motions  to  make,  and  no  case  to  be  passed  over  to 
the  next  term — he  found  Caruthers  with  his  feet 
on  the  table. 

"Getting  hot,"  said  Caruthers. 

"Is  it?  I  thought  we  had  been  playing  freeze- 
out,"  Lyman  replied,  throwing  his  hat  upon  the 
table  and  sitting  down. 

'Then  you  didn't  do  anything  with  his  Royal 
Flush?" 

"Brother  McElwin?  No.  He  fenced  with  his 
astonishment  until  he  could  find  words,  and  then 
he  granted  me  the  privilege  to  retire." 

"Wouldn't  take  a  mortgage  on  the  library?" 

"No;  he  said  it  wasn't  worth  a  hundred." 

"But  you  assured  him  that  it  was." 

"No ;  I  had  to  acknowledge  that  it  wasn't." 

(38) 


OLD  EBENEZER  39 

"You  are  a  fool." 

"Yes,  perhaps;  but  I'm  not  a  thief." 

"No!  But  it's  more  respectable  to  be  a  thief 
than  a  pauper." 

"It  is  not  very  comforting  to  be  both — to  know 
that  you  are  one  and  to  feel  that  you  are  the  other." 

"Lyman,  that  sort  of  doctrine  may  suit  a  long- 
tailed  coat,  a  white  necktie  and  a  countenance 
pinched  by  piety,  but  it  doesn't  suit  me." 

"It  suits  me,"  Lyman  replied.  "I  was  brought 
up  on  it.  I  think  mother  baked  it  in  with  the 
beans." 

"Watercolor  nonsense!"  said  Caruthers.  "My 
people  were  as  honest  as  anybody,  but  they  didn't 
teach  me  to  look  for  the  worst  of  it." 

"But  didn't  they  teach  you  that  without  a  cer 
tain  moral  force  there  can  be  no  real  and  lasting 
achievement?" 

Caruthers  turned  and  nodded  his  head  toward 
the  bank.  "Is  there  any  moral  force  over  there? 
Did  you  notice  any  saintly  precepts  on  his  wall? 
I  don't  think  you  did.  But  wasn't  there  many  a 
sign  that  said,  'get  money'?" 

"Caruthers,  you  join  with  the  rest  of  this  town 


40  OLD  EBENEZER 

in  the  belief  that  McElwin  is  a  great  man.  I  don't. 
He  is  a  community  success,  a  neighborhood's 
strong  man,  but  in  the  hands  of  the  giants  who  live 
in  the  real  world  he  is  a  weakling/' 

"He  is  strong  enough,  though,  not  to  tremble  at 
the  sound  of  a  footstep  at  the  door,  and  that's  exactly 
what  we  sit  here  doing  day  after  day.  The  joy  of 
the  hoped-for  client  is  driven  away  by  the  fear  of 
the  collector."  He  was  silent  for  a  moment,  and 
then  he  said:  "I  don't  feel  that  there's  any  advan 
tage  in  being  hooked  up  with  a  saint." 

"I  don't  know,"  Lyman  replied.  "I  never  tried 
it." 

"I  have,"  said  Caruthers,  looking  at  him. 

Lyman  laughed  and  rubbed  his  hands  together. 
"You  are  the  only  one  that  has  ever  insinuated 
such  a  compliment,  if  you  mean  that  I  am  a  saint. 
But  I  hold  that  there's  quite  a  stretch  between  a 
saint  and  a  man  who  has  a  desire  simply  to  be  hon 
est.  Saint —  He  laughed  again.  "Why,  the 
people  where  I  was  brought  up  called  me  a  rake." 

"They  were  angels.  But  why  don't  you  say 
where  you  were  'raised.'  Why  do  you  say  'brought 
up?  You  were  not  brought  up;  you  were  raised." 


OLD   EBENEZER 


41 


"Yes,  that's  true,  I  guess.  But  we  raised  vege 
tables  where  I  was  brought  up." 

"Cabbages?" 

"Yes,  some  cabbages.  Round  about  here, 
though,  they  appear  to  make  pumpkins  more  of  a 
specialty.  But  come  a  little  nearer  with  your  mean 
ing  concerning  the  saint.  I  take  it  that  you  are 
tired  of  the  partnership.  Am  I  right?" 

"Well,"  Caruthers  spoke  up,  "we  haven't  done 
anything  and  we  have  no  prospects." 

"You  are  right,"  said  Lyman,  "But  I  am  poorer 
and  you  are  about  as  well  off  as  you  were." 

"Do  you  mean  to  insinuate — " 

"Oh,  I  don't  insinuate,  though  it's  a  habit  among 
the  people  where  I  was  brought  up." 

"If  you  don't  insinuate,  what  then?  what  do  you 
mean?" 

"That  you've  got  about  all  the  money  I  had." 

"The  devil,  you  say!" 

"I  didn't  mention  the  devil.  I  didn't  think  it 
was  necessary  to  speak  in  the  third  person  of  one 
who  is  already  present." 

Caruthers  started  and  took  his  feet  off  the  table. 
Lyman  regarded  him  with  a  cool  smile. 


42 


OLD  EBENEZER 


"Lyman,  I  thought  that  we  might  have  parted 
friends." 

"We  can  at  least  part  as  acquaintances,"  Lyman 
replied.  "Until  a  few  moments  ago  I  was  willing 
to  stand  a  good  deal  from  you;  that  part  of  your 
principles  that  I  do  not  like  I  was  willing  to  ascribe 
to  a  difference  of  opinion,  but  just  now  you  called 
me  a  fool  because  I  had  refused  to  declare  those 
books  to  be  worth  a  hundred  dollars.  Up  to  that 
time  we  might  have  parted  in  reasonably  good  hu 
mor,  but  since  then  I  haven't  thought  very  well  of 
you.  And  you'll  have  to  take  it  back  before  you 
leave." 

"You  say  I'll  have  to  take  it  back." 

"Yes,  that's  what  I  said." 

"I  never  had  to  take  anything  back." 

"No?  Then  you  are  about  to  encounter  a  new 
phase  of  life.  Singular,  isn't  it,  that  we  never  know 
when  we  are  about  to  stumble  upon  something 
new." 

"You  don't  mean " 

"I  don't  know  that  I  do.  But  I  mean  that  you'll 
take  that  back  or  carry  away  a  thrashing  that  will 
make  you  stagger.  Did  you  ever  see  a  man  wab- 


OLD  EBENEZER  4S 

bling  off  after  a  thrashing  that  he  was  hardly  able 
to  carry?  Sad  sight  sometimes.  The  last  man  that 
I  whipped  weighed  about  forty  pounds  more  than  I 
do.  He  presumed  on  his  weight.  But  he  soon 
found  out  that  his  flesh  was  very  much  in  his  way. 
He  was  a  saw  mill  man  and  a  bully;  and  it  so  tick 
led  Uncle  Buckley  that  nothing  would  do  but  I 
must  come  to  his  house  and  live  as  one  of  the  fam 
ily.  Out  at  Fox  Grove  a  man  who  won't  be  im 
posed  upon  stands  high." 

"Lyman,  I  don't  want  any  trouble,  and " 

"Oh,  it  won't  be  any  trouble." 

"And  I  acknowledge  that  I  was  hasty.  I  take 
it  back,  and  here's  my  hand  on  it." 

"I'm  obliged  to  you  for  taking  it  back,  Caru- 
thers,  but  I  don't  want  to  take  your  hand.  I  don't 
understand  it,  but  a  spiritual  something  seems  to 
have  arisen  between  us." 

"All  right,"  said  Caruthers,  "but  I  hope  we  don't 
part  as  enemies." 

"Oh,  no,  not  as  enemies.  You  speak  of  parting 
as  if  you  were  the  one  who  has  to  vacate." 

"Yes,  I  have  rented  an  office  over  on  the  other 
side  of  the  square,  on  the  ground  floor." 


44  OLD  EBENE2ER 

"It  is  very  kind  of  you  to  leave  me  here,"  said 
Lyrnan.  "You  might  have  ordered  me  out.  I  am 
glad  you  didn't." 

"Such  a  proceeding  could  never  have  entered  my 
head,"  Caruthers  replied.  "In  fact,  I  thought  that 
if  the  separation  must  come  you  would  rather  stay 
here.  You  appear  to  have  a  fondness  for  that 
clanking  old  press  out  there." 

"Yes,  I  can  make  it  grind  out  my  rent.  When 
are  you  going  to  vacate  the  premises?"  Lyman 
asked,  his  grave  countenance  lighted  with  a  smile. 

"Now,  or  rather  in  a  very  few  minutes." 

"Is  there  anything  holding  you?" 

"Come  Lyman,  old  man,  don't  jog  me  that  way. 
And  I  wish  you  wouldn't  look  at  me  with  that  sort 
of  a  smile.  Everybody  says  you  have  the  kindest 
face  in  the  world ' 

"Without  a  bristle  to  hide  its  sweetness,"  Lyman 
broke  in. 

"Yes,"  Caruthers  assented,  "the  innocence  of  a 
boy  grown  to  manhood  without  knowing  it." 

"And  you  have  remained  to  tell  me  this?" 

"Oh,  I'll  go  now,"  said  Caruthers,  getting  up. 

"I  wish  you  would.     Up  to  a  very  short  time  ago 


OLD  EBENEZER  45 

I  thought  you  one  of  the  most  whimsically  enter 
taining  men  I  ever  met,  but  as  I  said  just  now,  a 
spiritual  disparagement  has  arisen  between  us,  a 
thick  fog,  and  I  wish  you  would  clear  the  atmos-  j 
phere." 

"Well,"  said  Caruthers,  "I  am  off.  I  don't  know 
what  to  take  with  me,"  he  added,  looking  about. 
"I  suppose  I  owe  you  more  or  less,  and  I'll  leave 
things  just  as  they  are  until  I  am  prepared  to  face  a 
statement." 

"All  right.    Good  day." 

"But  you  won't  shake  hands?" 

"Yes,  through  the  fog,"  said  Lyman,  holding  out 
his  hand.  Caruthers  grasped  it,  dropped  it,  as  if 
he  too  felt  that  it  came  through  a  fog,  and  hastened 
out.  Just  outside  he  met  Warren  coming  in. 
"What's  he  looking  so  serious  about?"  the  editor 
asked. 

"Sit  down,"  said  Lyman.     "Don't  take  the  chair 
he  had — -the  other  one,  that's  it.  Well,  we  have  split  ' 
the  law  trust  and  he  goes  across  the  square  to  open 
a  new  office." 

"Is  that  so?  Well,  I  reckon  there's  a  good  deal 
of  the  wolf  about  him.  Yes,  sir,  he  has  seen  me 


46  OLD  ECENEZER 

bleeding  under  the  heel  of  the  Express  Company, 
without  so  much  as  giving  me  the " 

"Moist  eye  of  sympathy,"  Lyman  suggested. 

'That's  all  right,  and  it  fits.  Say,  you  are  more 
of  a  writer  than  a  lawyer.  And  that's  exactly  in 
line  with  what  I  came  in  to  tell  you.  I  got  a  half 
column  ad.  this  morning  from  a  patent  medicine 
concern  in  the  North,  and  they  want  an  additional 
write-up.  It  all  comes  through  your  sketches." 

"Do  you  think  so?" 

"I  know  it.  A  drummer  told  me  this  morning 
that  he  had  heard  some  fellows  talking  about  my 
paper  in  a  St.  Louis  hotel,  the  best  hotel  in  the 
town,  mind  you — and  I  can  see  from  the  exchanges 
that  the  Sentinel  is  making  tracks  away  out  yon 
der  in  the  big  road.  And  it's  all  owing  to  that 
quaint  Yankee  brain  of  yours,  Lyman.  Yes,  it  is. 
Why,  the  best  lawyers  in  this  town  have  written  for 
my  paper.  The  Circuit  Judge  reviewed  the  life  of 
Sir  Edmond  Saunders,  whoever  he  was,  and  Capt. 
Fitch,  the  prosecuting  attorney,  wrote  two  columns 
on  Napoleon,  to  say  nothing  of  the  hundreds  of 
things  sent  in  by  the  bar  in  general,  and  it  all 


OLD  EBENEZER  47 

amounted  to  nothing,  but  you  come  along  in  the 
simplest  sort  of  a  way  and  make  a  hit." 

"I'm  glad  you  think  so." 

"Oh,  it's  not  a  question  of  think ;  I  know  it.  And 
now  I'll  tell  you  what  we'll  do.  We'll  let  this  law 
end  of  the  building  take  care  of  itself  and  we'll  give 
our  active  energies  to  the  paper.  You  do  the  edit 
ing  and  I'll  do  the  business.  You  put  stuff  into  the 
columns  and  I'll  wrestle  with  the  express  agent. 
And  I'll  divide  with  you." 

"Warren,"  said  Lyman,  getting  up  and  putting 
his  hands  on  the  newspaper  man's  shoulders, 
"there's  no  fog  between  you  and  me." 

Warren  looked  up  with  a  smile.  He  was  a  young 
fellow  with  a  bright  face,  and  the  soft  curly  hair  of 
a  child.  "Fog?  No,  sunshine.  There  couldn't  be 
any  fog  where  you  are,  Lyman.  I'm  not  much  of  a 
scholar.  I've  had  to  squirm  so  much  that  I  haven't 
had  time  to  study,  but  I  know  a  man  when  I  see 
him,  and  I  don't  see  how  any  woman  could  give 
you  much  attention  without  falling  in  love  with 
you,  hanged  if  I  do." 

Lyman  blushed  and  shook  him  playfully.  "I 
am  delighted  to  pool  distresses  with  you,"  he  said, 


48  OLD  EBENEZER 

"but  don't  try  to  flatter  me.    Women  laugh  at  me," 
he  added,  sitting  down. 

"No,  they  laugh  with  you.     But  that's  all  right. 
Now,  let's  talk  over  our  prospects." 


CHAPTER  V. 
BEI,I,E  OP  THE  TOWN. 

Once  in  a  long  while  Banker  McElwin  made  it 
a  policy  to  gather  up  a  number  of  his  boastful  re 
lations,  reinforced  by  a  number  of  friends,  and 
then  conduct  the  party  to  the  house  of  another 
kinsman,  where  he  would  give  them  an  evening  of 
delight.  He  did  not  give  notice  of  these  gracious 
recognitions,  preferring  to  make  the  event  sweeter 
with  surprise.  On  his  part  it  was  a  generous  for- 
getfulness  of  self-importance — it  was  as  if  a  placid 
and  beneficent  moon  had  come  to  beam  upon  a 
cluster  of  stars.  To  the  men  he  would  quote 
stocks,  as  if,  a  lover  of  letters,  he  were  giving  a 
poem  to  a  "mite  society."  Upon  the  ladies  he 
would  smile  and  throw  off  vague  hints  of  future 
silks  and  fineries. 

One  evening  this  coterie  gathered  at  the  home 
of  Jasper  Staggs.  Old  Jasper,  in  his  earlier  days, 
had  been  a  town  marshal,  and  it  was  his  boast  that 
he  had  arrested  Steve  Day,  the  desperado  who  had 

(49) 


50  OLD  EBENEZER 

choked  the  sheriff  and  defied  the  law.  This  great 
feat  was  remembered  by  the  public,  and  old  Jasper 
nursed  it  as  a  social  pension.  But  it  did  not  bring 
in  revenue  sufficient  to  sustain  life,  so  he  made  a 
pretense  of  collecting  difficult  accounts  while  his 
wife  and  "old  maid"  daughter  did  needlework  and 
attended  to  the  few  wants  of  one  boarder,  Sam  Ly- 
man.  The  "banker's  society"  recognized  the 
Staggs  family  in  the  evening  of  the  day  which  fol 
lowed  Sam  Lyman's  call  at  the  First  National,  and 
was  in  excitable  progress  while  Lyman,  in  ignor 
ance  of  it  all,  prolonged  his  talk  with  Warren.  In 
the  family  sitting  room  the  banker  talked  of  the 
possibility  of  a  panic  in  Wall  Street.  In  the  parlor 
the  younger  relatives  were  playing  games,  with 
Annie  Staggs,  the  old  maid,  as  director  of  cere 
monies.  After  a  time  they  hit  upon  the  game  of 
forfeits.  Miss  Eva  McElwin,  the  great  man's 
daughter,  fell  under  penalty,  and  the  sentence 
was  that  she  should  go  through  the  ceremony  of 
marriage  with  the  first  man  who  came  through  the 
door.  At  that  moment  Sam  Lyman  entered  the 
room.  He  was  greeted  with  shouts  and  clapping 
of  hands,  and  he  drew  back  in  dismay,  but  Miss 


OLD  EBENEZER  51 

Annie  ran  to  him  and  led  him  forward.     Eva  Mc- 
Elwin,  with  a  pout,  turned  to  some  one  and  said: 

"What,  with  that  thing?" 

"Oh,  you've  got  to,"  was  shouted.     "Yes,  you  ' 
have." 

"Well,  what  is  expected  of  me?"  Lyman  asked. 

"Why,"  Miss  Annie  cried,  "you've  got  to  marry 
a  young  lady,  the  belle  of  Old  Ebenezer." 

He  had  often  gazed  at  the  girl,  in  church,  had 
been  struck  by  her  beauty,  but  had  shared  the  belief 
of  the  envious — that  she  was  a  charming  "simple 
ton." 

"Well,  don't  you  think  you'd  better  introduce 
us?" 

"Oh,  no,  it  will  be  all  the  funnier." 

"Marry,  and  get  acquainted  afterwards,  eh? 
Well,  I  guess  that  is  the*  rule  in  society.  I  beg  your 
pardon,"  he  added,  speaking  to  Miss  McElwin,  "for 
not  appearing  in  a  more  appropriate  garb,  but  as 
there  seems  to  be  some  hurry  in  the  matter,  I  * 
haven't  the  time  nor  the  clothes  to  meet  a  more 
fashionable  demand.  I  am  at  your  service." 

He  offered  his  arm  and  the  girl  took  it  with  a 
laugh,  but  with  more  of  scorn  than  of  good  humor, 


52  OLD   EBENEZER 

''Take  your  places  here,"  Miss  Annie  said.  And 
then  she  cried:  "Oh,  where  is  Henry  Bostic? 
We'll  have  him  perform  the  ceremony.  He'll  make 
it  so  deliciously  solemn."  She  ran  away  and  soon 
returned,  with  a  young  man  serious  enough  to  have 
divided  the  pulpit  with  any  circuit  rider  in  the 
country. 

The  ceremony  was  performed,  and  then  began 
the  congratulations.  "Oh,  please  quit,"  Miss 
McElwin  pleaded.  "I'm  tired  of  it.  Zeb,"  she 
said,  turning  to  a  bold  looking  young  man,  "tell 
them  to  quit." 

"Here,"  he  commanded,  "we've  got  enough  of 
this,  so  let's  start  on  something  else.  Let's  play 
old  Sister  Phoebe.  Why  the  deuce  won't  they  let 
us  dance?" 

"Henry,"  said  Miss  Annie,  stepping  out  upon 
the  veranda  with  the  serious  young  man,  "they  al 
ways  called  you  queer,  but  I  must  say  that  you 
know  how  to  perform  a  marriage  ceremony." 

"I  trust  so,"  he  answered. 

"You  do;  and  when  you  are  ordained " 

"I  was  ordained  this  morning." 


OLD  EBENEZER  53 

"What!"  she  cried.     'Then  the  marriage 
near  being  actual.    It  only  required  the  license." 

"The  last  legislature  repealed  the  marriage  li 
cense  law,"  he  replied. 

"Mercy  on  me!"  she  cried. 

"Mercy  on  them,"  said  the  young  man  who  had 
been  regarded  as  queer. 

She  took  hold  of  a  post  to  steady  herself.  She 
heard  the  deep  voice  of  the  banker;  the  droning 
tone  of  "Old  Sister  Phoebe"  came  from  the  parlor. 

"Don't  tremble  so.  It  can't  be  helped  now,"  said 
the  young  man.  "It's  nothing  to  cry  about.  How 
did  I  know?  You  said  you  wanted  me  to  perform 
a  marriage  ceremony,  and  I  did.  How  did  I  know 
it  was  in  fun?  You  didn't  say  so.  The  father  and 
mother  were  in  the  other  room.  They  could  have 
come  in  and  objected.  How  did  I  know  but  that 
they  had  given  their  consent,  and  staid  in  the  other 
room  for  sentimental  reasons?  I  am  not  supposed 
to  know  everything." 

"Oh,  but  who  will  tell  Cousin  McElwin?"  she 
sobbed.  "And  who  will  tell  Zeb  Sawyer?  Oh,  it's 
awful,  and  it's  all  your  fault,  and  you  know  it.  You 
are  crazy,  that's  what  you  are." 


54  OLD  EBENEZER 

"Well,  you  can  exercise  your  own  opinion  about 
that.  You  people  have  all  along  said  that  I  would 
never  do  anything,  but  if  I  haven't  done  something 
to-night  to  stir  up  the  town " 

"Oh,  you  malicious  thing.  I  don't  know  what 
to  do!  Oh,  I  don't  know  what  is  to  become  of 
me!" 

"It's  all  very  well  to  cry,  for  marriages  are  often 
attended  by  tears,  but  you  should  not  call  me  ma 
licious.  Mr.  McElwin  laughed  when  my  mother 
told  him  I  was  going  to  preach,  and  it  almost  broke 
her  heart." 

"Revengeful  creature,"  she  sobbed,  clinging  to 
the  post. 

"No,  the  Gospel  is  not  revengeful,  but  it  hum 
bles  pride,  for  that  is  a  service  done  the  Lord.  Step 
in  there  and  see  if  Mr.  McElwin  has  anything  to 
laugh  about  now.  He  laughed  at  my  poor  mother 
when  he  knew  that  all  her  earthly  hope  was  cen 
tered  in  me.  Well,  I'll  bid  you  good  night." 

"Oh,  no,"  she  cried,  seizing  him.  "You  shall 
not  leave  me  to  face  it  all.  You  shall  not." 

"No,  that  wouldn't  be  right.    I'll  face  it." 


CHAPTER  VI. 
HUMBI.KD  INTO  THE  DUST. 

Lyman  found  favor  with  the  company,  that 
is,  with  the  exception  of  Eva  McElwin,  whose 
position  demanded  a  certain  reserve.  He  had 
sought  to  engage  her  in  conversation,  and  she  had 
listened  as  if  struck  with  the  tone  of  his  voice,  but 
she  turned  suddenly  away,  remembering,  doubtless, 
that  she  was  present  as  an  act  of  condescension, 
and  that  for  the  time  being  she  was  the  social 
property  not  of  any  stranger,  but  of  her  "poor  kin." 
Lyman  looked  after  her  with  a  smile  and  a  merry 
twinkle  of  mischief  in  his  eye.  He  had  heard  it 
said  that  her  complexion  was  of  a  sort  that  would 
never  freckle,  and  he  was  amused  at  his  having  re 
membered  a  remark  so  trivial.  He  had  looked  into 
her  eyes,  had  plunged  into  them,  he  fancied,  for 
she  had  merely  glanced  up  at  him:  and  he  thought 
of  the  illumined  blue  that  mingles  in  the  rainbow, 
and  he  mused  that  he  had  never  seen  a  head  so 
fine,  so  gracefully  poised.  And  then  he  speculated 

(55) 


56  OLD  EBENEZER 

upon  the  petulant  waste  of  her  life.  Almost  di 
vine  could  have  been  her  mission;  what  a  balm  in 
a  house  of  sickness  and  distress.  He  thought  of 
the  pale  man  whom  he  had  seen  lying  near  the 
window;  he  fancied  himself  thus  doomed  to  lie  and 
waste  slowly  away,  and  he  pictured  the  delight  it 
would  be  to  see  her  enter  the  room,  like  an  angel 
sent  to  soothe  him  with  her  smile.  She  turned 
toward  him  to  listen  to  a  worshiping  cousin,  and 
Lyman  saw  her  lips  bud  into  a  pout,  and  it  was  al 
most  a  grief  to  see  her  so  spoiled  and  so  shallow. 

"Well,  I  see  you  are  getting  acquainted  right 
along,"  said  Zeb  Sawyer,  speaking  to  Lyman.  "A 
man  doesn't  have  to  live  here  long  before  he  knows 
everybody.  But  I'm  kept  so  busy  that  I  haven't 
much  time  for  society." 

"What  business  are  you  in?"  Lyman  asked. 

"Mules;  nothing  but  mules.  Oh,  well,  occasion 
ally  I  handle  a  horse  or  so,  but  I  make  a  specialty 
of  buying  and  selling  mules.  Good  deal  of  money 
in  it,  I  tell  you.  McElwin  used  to  do  something 
in  that  line  himself.  Yes,  sir,  and  he  paid  me  a 
mighty  high  compliment  the  other  day — he  said  I 
was  about  as  good  a  judge  of  mules  as  he  ever 


OLD  EBENEZER  57 

saw,  and  that,  coming  from  a  man  as  careful  as  he 
is,  was  mighty  high  praise,  I  tell  you.  Helloa, 
what's  up?" 

From  the  family  sitting  room  had  come  a  roar 
and  a  noise  like  the  upsetting  of  chairs.  And  into 
the  parlor  rushed  McElwin,  followed  by  his  wife, 
Staggs,  Mrs.  Staggs,  and  the  white  and  terrified 
Miss  Annie. 

"A  most  damnable  outrage!"  McElwin  shouted, 
making  straight  for  Lyman.  "I  mean  you,  sir," 
he  cried,  shaking  his  fist  at  Lyman.  ''You,  sir.  You 
try  to  bunco  me  and  now  you  conspire  with  an 
imbecile  to  humble  me  into  the  dust.  I  mean  you, 
sir.  You  have  married  my  daughter.  That  fool 
is  an  ordained  preacher,  and  your  sockless  legis 
lature  did  away  with  marriage  licenses." 

Lyman  looked  about  and  saw  Miss  Eva  faint  in 
her  mother's  arms ;  he  saw  terror  in  the  faces  about 
him,  and  his  cheek  felt  the  hot  breath  of  Sawyer's 
rage.  He  stepped  back,  for  the  banker's  hand  was 
at  his  throat. 

"Pardon  me,"  he  said,  with  a  quietness  that  struck 
the  company  with  a  becalming  awe.  ''Pardon  me, 
but  I  did  not  know  that  there  was  any  conspiracy. 


68 


OLD  EBENEZER 


Is  there  a  doctor  present?  If  there's  not,  send  for 
one  to  attend  the  young  lady." 

Some  one  ran  out.  McElwin  stood  boiling  with 
fury.  Sawyer  thrust  forth  his  hand.  Lyman 
knocked  it  up.  "I  will  not  step  back  for  you,"  he 
said.  "I  have  committed  no  outrage  and  I  am  not 
here  to  be  insulted  and  pounced  upon.  Mr.  Mc 
Elwin,  you  ought  to  have  sense  enough  to  look 
calmly  upon  this  unfortunate  joke."  He  turned, 
attracted  by  a  wail  from  Mrs.  McElwin.  Again  he 
addressed  the  banker,  now  not  so  furious  as  awk 
wardly  embarrassed.  'They  were  playing  and  the 
young  lady  was  to  go  through  the  marriage  cere 
mony  with  the  first  man  to  enter  the  room,  a  com 
mon  farce  hereabouts,  as  you  know;  and  I  was  the 
first  man  to  enter.  Don't  blame  me  for  a  playful 
custom,  or  the  action  of  a  populist  legislature." 

"That  may  be  all  true,  sir,  but  how  could  you 
presume,  even  in  fun,  to  stand  up  with  her?  How  is 
she?"  he  demanded,  turning  toward  a  woman  who 
had  just  come  from  a  room  whither  they  had  taken 
the  "bride." 

"Oh,  she  is  all  right.  She  was  more  scared 
than  hurt." 


OLD  EBENEZER  59 

He  gave  her  a  look  of  contempt,  as  if  he  had 
been  hit  with  a  sarcasm;  and  then  he  addressed 
himself  to  Lyman.     "I  ask,  sir,  how  you  could 
presume  to  stand  up  with  her?" 
"Well,  I  was  told  that  I  had  to." 
"And  you  were  willing  enough,  no  doubt." 
"I  didn't  hang  back  very  much ;  they  didn't  have 
to  tear  my  clothes." 

"But  I  wish  they  had  torn  your  flesh,  as  you 
have  torn  mine.  Who  ever  knew  of  so  disgraceful 
and  ridiculous  a  situation?  It  beats  anything  I 
ever  heard  of." 

"But  it  can  be  made  all  right,"  said  old  man 
Staggs.  "Nobody's  hurt." 

"We  can  get  a  divorce,"  Zeb  Sawyer  suggested. 
"Yes,"  said  Lyman,  "but  our  friends,  the  pop 
ulists,  have  enacted  rather  peculiar  divorce  laws. 
And  without  some  vital  cause,  the  application  must 
be  signed  by  both  parties.  It's  in  the  nature  of  a 
petition." 

"Well,    that    can    be    arranged,"    McElwin    de 
clared,  with  a  sigh.    "Annie,  is  Eva  better?" 
"Yes,  sir." 
"Thank  you.     And  you  must  pardon  me   for 


60  OLD   EREXEZER 

talking  to  you  as  I  did  just  now,  for  I  was  never 
so  upset  in  my  life.  Cousin  Jasper,  I  wish  you 
would  have  my  carriage  ordered.  Annie,  tell  Mrs. 
McElwin  that  we  will  go  home  at  once.  Mr. 
Lyman,  let  me  see  you  a  moment  in  private." 

Lyman  followed  him  out  upon  the  veranda.  He 
had  not  analized  his  own  feelings,  but  he  was  con 
scious  of  a  strange  victory. 

"Mr.  Lyman,  you  came  to  me  and  wanted  to 
borrow  a  hundred  dollars." 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Well,  I  can  let  you  have  it." 

"No,  I  thank  you." 

"What,  you  don't  want  it?" 

"Well,  it  wouldn't  look  exactly  right  for  a  rich 
man's  son-in-law  to  borrow  money  so  soon  after 
marriage." 

"Confound  your  impudence,  sir — I  beg  your 
pardon." 

"I  thank  you,"  said  Lyman. 

"You  thank  me?    What  for?" 

"For  begging  my  pardon." 

"Come,  that  is  all  nonsense,  Mr.  Lyman.  Tell 
my  wife  that  I'll  be  ready  in  a  moment,"  he  shouted 
with  his  head  thrust  in  at  the  door.  "The  most 


OLD  EBEXEZER  61 

absurd  of  nonsense,"  he  said,  turning  back  to  Ly- 
man.  "It  will  raise  a  horse  laugh  throughout  the 
county,  and  will  then  be  dismissed  as  a  good  joke 
on  me.  Yes,  sir,  on  me.  And  now  will  you  agree 
to  conform  to  the  requirements  of  that  ridiculous 
legislature,  and  sign  the  petition  to  the  court?" 

"I  haven't  been  informed  that  the  legislature 
requires  me  to  sign  any  petition.  And  I  have  no 
favors  to  ask  of  the  court." 

"Is  it  possible,  Mr.  Lyman,  that  you  do  not  see 
the  necessity  of  it?" 

"And  is  it  possible,  Mr.  McElwin,  that  you  do  not 
see  the  humor  of  it?" 

"The  absurdity,  yes.  But  I  see  no  fun  in  it.  I 
am  a  dignified  man,  sir." 

"Of  course  you  tell  me  this  in  confidence — that 
you  are  a  dignified  man.  All  right — I  won't  say 
anything  about  it.  But  even  dignity  sometimes 
stands  in  need  of  advice.  Go  home  and  get  a  good 
night's  sleep." 

"Do  you  mean  that  you  won't  agree — " 

"Not  to-night." 

"Mr.  Lyman,  I  have  heard  that  you  are  one  of  the 
kindest  hearted  of  men." 

"Oh,  then  you  have  heard  of  me?    And  I  was  not 


62 


OLD  EBENEZER 


an  entire  stranger  when  I  called  at  your  bank? 
Yes,  I  suppose  I  have  been  what  they  were  pleased 
to  term  a  good  fellow,  and  it  strikes  me  that  I  have 
got  the  worst  end  of  the  bargain  all  along;  so  now, 
for  once  in  my  life,  I  am  going  to  be  mean.  I  will 
not  sign  your  petition,  Mr.  McElwin." 

"What,  sir,  do  you  mean  it?" 

"Yes,  I  mean  it.  I  cannot  afford  to  surrender  a 
position  so  deliciously  absurd." 

'Then  I  will  compel  you,  sir."  He  began  to 
choke  with  anger. 

"All  right.  I  suppose  you  will  invite  me  to  be 
present." 

"I  will  compel  you  to  leave  this  town." 

"What!  After  forming  so  strong  an  attach 
ment?" 

"You  are  not  a  gentleman,  sir." 

"No?  Well,  I  have  married  into  a  pretty  good 
family." 

"I  will  not  bandy  words  with  you.  But  I  will 
see  you,  and  perhaps  when  you  least  expect  it." 

"Very  well.  Good  night,  and  please  remember 
that  there  is  no  humor  in  the  law,  that  the  statutes 
do  not  recognize  a  joke,  and  that,  for  the  present 
at  least,  the  young  woman  is  my  wife." 


CHAPTER  VII. 
WEDDING  BREAKFAST. 


At  the  breakfast  table  the  next  morning  old  man 
Staggs  spread  himself  back  with  a  loud  laugh  as 
Lyman  entered  the  room.  His  wife  looked  at  him 
with  sharp  reproof. 

"Jasper,  you  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  yourself," 
she  said.  "It  is  a  sin  to  laugh  at  a  trouble.  Sit 
down,  Mr.  Lyman." 

"Cousin  Sam,"  said  Lyman,  and  the  old  man 
roared  again.  "Well,  sir,"  he  declared,  with  the 
tears  streaming  out  of  his  eyes,  "I  never  saw  any 
thing  like  it  in  my  life.  It  knocked  him,  knocked 
him  prosperous,  as  old  Moxey  used  to  say.  Best 
joke  I  ever  heard  of." 

"Jasper,  don't,"  his  wife  pleaded.  "For  my  sake 
don't.  I  am  afraid  he'll  never  speak  to  us  again." 

"Well,  what  of  that?  Can  we  coin  his  words  and 
pass  them  for  money?  And  he  has  never  given  us 
anything  but  words.  He  has  been  promising  Annie 
a  silk  dress  since  she  was  fourteen.  Won't  speak  to 

(63) 


64  OLD  EBENEZER 

us  again.  What  do  you  want?  More  promises?  I'm 
gettin'  tired  of  'em.  Why,  he  has  even  flung  ridi 
cule  on  my  arrest  of  that  desperate  man,  the  most 
dangerous  fellow  that  ever  trod  shoe  leather.  And, 
as  Mr.  Lyman  don't  appear  to  be  upset,  I'm  glad 
the  thing  happened." 

"But  nearly  all  the  blame  falls  on  me,"  Miss 
Annie  whimpered.  "I  am  afraid  ever  to  meet  him 
again." 

"Oh,  you  are  afraid  he  won't  make  you  another 
promise.  Well,  that  would  be  a  terrible  loss.  Ly 
man,  jest  help  yourself  to  that  fried  ham.  Tilt  up 
the  dish,  and  dip  out  some  of  the  gravy.  Sorry 
we  haven't  got  cakes  and  maple  syrup ;  wish  we  had 
some  angel's  food.  Rather  a  strange  weddin' 
breakfast  with  the  bride  not  present." 

"Did — did  Mrs.  Lyman  entirely  recover  before 
she  was  taken  home?"  Lyman  asked. 

Miss  Annie  looked  up.  "I  think  it  was  nearly 
all  put  on,"  she  said. 

"Why,  Annie  Milburn  Staggs!"  her  mother  ex 
claimed.  "How  can  you  say  such  a  thing!  I  don't 
know  what's  come  over  you  and  your  father.  I'm 
getting  so  I'm  afraid  to  hear  you  speak,  you  shock 


OLD  EBENEZEU  65 

"That's  right,  Annie,"  said  the  old  man.  "Say 
exactly  what  you  think.  To  tell  the  truth,  I'm  get- 
tin'  sorter  tired  of  bein'  trod  under  by  the  horse 
that  McElwin  rides.  And  if  I  was  you,  Lyman, 
I'd  stand  right  up  to  him." 

"That's  about  where  you'll  find  me  standing. 
I  am  sorry  for  the  young  woman,  but — " 

"Don't  worry  over  her,"  Miss  Annie  spoke  up. 
"I  believe  she's  laughing  alone  right  now  over  the 
absurdity  of  it.  Why,  anybody  would,  and  she's 
no  more  than  human." 

"I  suppose  she  denounced  me,"  said  Lyman. 

"Yes,  in  a  way.  She  had  to  keep  time  with  her 
mother.  But  they  are  madder  at  Henry  Bostic 
than  at  anyone  else.  And  really,  he's  the  only  one 
that's  guilty.  But  I  don't  blame  him  much.  The 
McElwins  have  always  made  fun  of  him." 

"What  are  you  going  to  do,  Lyman?"  the  old 
man  asked. 

"Nothing.     I  am  satisfied." 

"Don't  say  that,  Mr.  Lyman,"  the  old  woman 
pleaded.  "Don't  distress  a  proud  family." 

"Madam,"  Lyman  replied,  "I  am  ready  to  kneel 
and  beg  the  pardon  of  a  heart  in  distress,  but  sense- 


66  OLD   EBENEZER 

less  pride  doesn't  appeal  to  me.  I  can  compare 
families  with  the  McElwins  when  it  comes  to  that, 
and  putting  my  judgment  aside,  I  can  be  as  proud 
as  they  are.  They  have  money,  but  that  is  all,  and 
they  would  be  but  paupers  compared  with  the 
really  rich.  There  are  no  great  names  in  their 
family,  while  from  my  family  have  sprung  orators, 
novelists  and  poets." 

"Good!"  Miss  Annie  cried.  "I  like  to  look  at 
you  when  you  talk  like  that." 

"I'll  bet  you  ain't  afraid  of  nobody,"  the  old  man 
declared.  "I  never  saw  an  eye  like  yourn  that  was 
afraid,  and  a  face,  nuther.  Oh,  when  it  comes  to 
looks,  you  are  there  all  right.  Well,  sir,"  he  added, 
"the  town's  stirred  up.  Old  Ebenezer  is  all  of  a 
titter.  Afraid  to  laugh  out  loud,  but  she's  tickled 
all  the  same."  The  old  man  leaned  back  with  a 
chuckle,  and  in  his  merriment  he  slowly  clawed  at 
the  rim  of  gray  whiskers  that  ran  around  under 
his  chin.  "I  like  to  see  a  town  tickled,"  he  said. 

"Never  mind,  Jasper,"  his  wife  spoke  up,  "your 
pride  may  be  humbled  one  of  these  days." 

"My  pride,"  he  laughed.  "Why,  bless  you,  I 
haven't  any  pride.  Cousin  McElwin  knocked  it  all 


OLD  EBENEZER  67 

out  of  me  when  he  said,  and  right  to  my  face,  that 
anybody  could  have  arrested  the  man  that  choked 
the  sheriff.  I  knowed  then  that  something  was 
going  to  happen  to  him.  Knowed  it  as  well  as  I 
knowed  my  name." 

The  old  woman's  hand  shook  and  her  cup  rat 
tled  in  the  saucer  as  she  put  it  down.  "I  hope  the 
Lord  will  forgive  you  for  bein'  so  revengeful,"  she 
said. 

"Don't  let  that  worry  you,  Tobitha,"  he  replied, 
rubbing  his  rim  of  gray  bristles.  "The  Lord  takes 
care  of  his  own,  and  I  reckon  your  prayers  have 
made  me  one  of  the  elected." 

"One  of  the  elect,  father,"  said  Miss  Annie. 

:'A11  the  same,"  the  old  man  replied.  "Why, 
just  look,"  he  added,  glancing  through  the  window 
— "Just  look  at  the  folks  out  there  gazin'  at  the 
house.  Oh,  we  live  in  the  center  of  this  town,  at 
present." 

"Annie,"  said  the  old  woman,  "pull  down  the 
shade.  The  impudent  things!" 

"I  don't  believe  I  would,"  the  old  man  tittered 
as  his  daughter  arose  to  obey.  "It  ain't  right  to  rob 
folks  of  a  pleasure  that  don't  cost  us  nothin'." 


OLD  EBENEZER 

'There's  that  vicious  Mrs.  Potter,"  said  Annie, 
and  with  a  spiteful  jerk  she  pulled  down  the  shade. 
"We  will  shut  off  her  malicious  view." 

"It  is  to  be  expected  that  a  bridegroom  should 
be  an  object  of  interest,"  Lyman  remarked.  "I 
awoke  last  night  and  thought  that  I  heard  sleet 
rattling  at  the  window,  but  recalling  the  time  of 
year  I  knew  that  it  was  rice  thrown  in  showers  by 
my  friends." 

The  old  lady  looked  at  Lyman:  "I  am  sorry 
that  you're  not  more  serious,"  she  said. 

"Serious,"  Lyman  repeated  with  a  twinkling 
glance  at  the  old  man.  "I  have  done  everything 
I  can  to  prove  that  I  am  serious.  I  have  just 
been  married." 

"Oh,  you  got  it  that  time,  Tobitha.  Got  it,  and 
I  knowed  you  would." 

"Jasper,  for  goodness  sake,  hush.  Annie,  come 
away  from  there,  a  peepin'  through  at  those  good- 
for-nothin'  people.  They'd  better  be  at  work 
earnin'  a  livin'  for  their  families,  gracious  knows. 
Are  you  going?"  she  asked  as  Lyman  arose. 

"Yes,  to  my  office,  to  work  for  the  Sentinel 
I  am  the  editor,  now." 


OLD  EBENEZER  69 

"Why,  you  didn't  tell  us  that,"  said  Annie,  turn 
ing  from  the  window. 

"My  mind  has  been  engaged  with  more  import 
ant  matters,"  he  replied,  with  his  hands  on  the  back 
of  the  chair,  smiling  at  her.  "It  was  only  yesterday 
that  Warren  offered  to  join  his  misfortune  with 


The  old  woman  sighed:  "I  hope  you'll  be  care 
ful  not  to  say  things  in  the  street  to  stir  up  strife," 
she  said. 

"Strife,"  the  old  man  repeated  with  a  laugh. 

"Yes,  strife,"  she  insisted.  "There  are  any  num 
ber  of  men  that  would  like  to  get  him  into  trouble, 
just  to  please  Cousin  McElwin." 

"I  think  I  can  take  care  of  myself,"  said  Lyman, 
putting  on  his  hat. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

SUPPRESSING  THE  NEWS. 

Lyman  found  Warren  almost  in  hysterical  glee, 
treading  air  up  and  down  the  office.  "Ho!"  he 
cried,  as  the  bridegroom  entered  the  office.  "Let 
me  get  hold  of  you.  Ho !"  he  shouted  louder  as  he 
shook  Lyman's  hand.  "Maybe  we  haven't  got  the 
situation  by  the  forelock.  Who  ever  heard  of  such 
a  thing!  Shake  again.  I  didn't  hear  about  it  till 
awhile  ago,  and  then  I  took  a  fit  and  caught  an 
other  one  from  it.  Glad  I  held  the  paper  in  line 
with  the  Grangers." 

"Let  me  sit  down,"  said  Lyman. 

"That's  exactly  what  you  must  do,  and  write 
like  a  horse  trotting.  I've  left  two  columns  open, 
and  I  want  you  to  spread  yourself." 

"Something  important?"  Lyman  asked,  sitting 
down. 

"Now,  what  do  you  want  to  talk  that  way  for? 
It's  a  world  beater." 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

(TO) 


OLD  EBENEZER  71 

'The  marriage,  don't  you  understand?  Make 
two  columns  out  of  it  and  I'll  get  fifty  subscribers 
before  night.  Hurry  up,  I've  got  a  tramp  printer 
waiting  for  the  copy." 

"Nonsense,"  said  Lyman,  lighting  a  cigar.  "You 
wouldn't  expect  a  man  to  write  up  his  own  mar 
riage,  any  more  than  you  would  his  own  funeral." 

"If  his  funeral  was  as  extraordinary  as  this  mar 
riage  I  would.  Finest  piece  of  news  I  ever  heard 
of.  Never  heard  of  anything  to  beat  it;  and  we'll 
make  the  hair  rise  up  in  this  community  like  bris 
tles  on  a  dog.  Go  ahead  with  it.  The  tramp's  wait 
ing  and  I  am  paying  him  time." 

"Sit  down,"  said  Lyman.  Warren  did  so  reluct 
antly.  Lyman  put  his  hand  on  the  young  man's 
shoulder.  "My  dear  boy,"  said  he,  "don't  you 
know  it  would  be  very  indelicate,  not  to  say  vul 
gar,  for  us  to  print  a  sensational  account  of  that 
marriage?  For  a  day  it  might  be  a  news  victory. 
but  afterwards  it  would  be  a  humiliating  defeat. 
To  tell  you  the  truth,  I  am  about  ready  to  confess 
my  regret  that  it  happened."  He  was  silent  for  a 
moment,  as  if  to  take  note  of  Warren's  hard  breath 
ing.  "And  if  McElwin  had  come  to  me  more  as  a 


72  OLD  EBENEZER 

man  and  less  like  a  mad  bull  I  would  have  agreed 
to  sign  the  divorce  petition.  But  I  don't  like  to  be 
driven.  I  am  sorry  to  disappoint  you;  it  is  hard 
to  throw  cold  water  on  your  warm  enthusiasm, 
but  I  won't  write  a  word  about  the  marriage." 

Tears  gathered  in  Warren's  eyes.  'This  life's 
not  worth  living,"  he  said.  "Nothing  but  disap 
pointment  all  the  time.  No  hope;  everything  dead." 

"But  you  shouldn't  hang  a  hope  on  a  poisonous 
weed,  my  boy." 

"No  matter  where  I  hang  one,  it  falls  to  the  dust. 
But  say,  you  are  not  going  to  sign  that  paper,  are 
you?" 

"Not  at  present.  I  am  man  enough  to  be  stub 
born." 

"Good!"  Warren  cried,  his  wonted  enthusiasm 
beginning  to  rise.  "Don't  sign  it  at  all.  You've 
got  him  on  the  hip,  and  you  can  throw  him  where 
you  please.  I've  been  waiting  two  years  to  get 
even  with  him.  He  stopped  his  paper  because  I 
printed  a  communication  from  a  farmer  denounc 
ing  money  sharks.  All  right,"  he  said,  getting  up, 
"we  can  make  the  paper  go  anyway.  I'll  put  that 
tramp  on  another  job." 


OLD  EBENEZER  73 

•;• 

He  went  out  with  a  rush  and  the  high  spirits 
of  glorious  and  thoughtless  youth.  Lyman  went 
to  the  window  and  gazed  over  at  the  bank.  The 
place  looked  cool  and  dignified,  the  province  of  af 
bank  when  other  places  of  business  have  been 
forced  to  an  early  opening.  Lyman  smiled  at  the 
reflection  that  there  was  no  crape  on  the  door, 
as  if  he  had  half  expected  to  find  it  there.  "He 
couldn't  let  me  have  a  hundred  dollars  when  I 
offered  to  give  him  a  mortgage  on  the  library," 
he  mused.  "Said  he  couldn't,  but  he  was  willing 
enough  to  offer  the  money  in  exchange  for  another 
sort  of  mortgage.  I  suppose  he  thinks  it  strange 
that  I  was  not  bought  upon  the  instant." 

"Well,"  said  Warren,  entering  the  room,  "I  paid 
the  tramp  thirty  cents  for  his  time  and  he  has  gone 
away  happier  than  if  he  had  been  put  to  work. 
What  are  you  doing?  Looking  at  dad's  temple? 
Fine  prospect." 

"Yes,  for  dad." 

"But  don't  you  let  him  browbeat  you  out  of 
your  rights." 

"I  won't.  The  son-in-law  has  rights  which  the 
father-in-law  ought  to  respect.  What  sort  of  a 
fellow  is  Zeb  Sawyer?" 


74  OLD  EBENEZER 

"Good  deal  of  a  bully,"  Warren  answered,  stand 
ing  beside  Lyman  and  looking  through  the  win 
dow  as  if  to  keep  company  with  the  survey  of  the 
bank.  "He  managed  by  industry  and  close  atten 
tion  to  shoot  a  man,  I  understand,  and  that  gave 
him  a  kind  of  pull  with  society,  although  the  fel 
low  didn't  die.  He's  a  hustler  and  makes  money, 
and  of  course  has  a  firm  grip  on  McElwin's  heart. 
There  are  worse  fellows,  although  he  didn't  renew 
his  subscription  when  the  time  ran  out." 

While  they  were  looking  the  porter  opened  the 
door  of  the  bank. 

"They  are  going  to  transact  business  just  the 
same,"  said  Lyman. 

"Yes,  they've  got  to  pull  teeth,  no  matter  what 
has  happened.  Do  you  know  that  there  are  lots 
of  fellows  around  town  that  would  like  to  come  up 
here  and  congratulate  you,  but  they  are  afraid  of 
McElwin." 

"I  wonder  Caruthers  hasn't  come,"  said  Lyman.* 

"No  you  don't.  You've  got  no  use  for  him  and 
have  told  him  so.  Helloa,  yonder  comes  McElwin 
and  Sawyer.  They  are  crossing  the  street.  By 
George,  I  believe  they  are  coming  here." 


OLD  EBENEZER  75 

"All  right.  Let's  step  back"  and  stand  at  ease 
ready  to  receive  them." 

"Say,  I  believe  there's  going  to  be  trouble  here," 
said  Warren.  "And  if  there  is  you  wouldn't  mind 
writing  it  up,  would  you?" 

"No,  I  wouldn't  mind.  Ordinary  trouble  is  not 
quite  so  personally  embarrassing  as  a  marriage." 

"Shall  I  keep  the  columns  open?"  Warren  asked, 
his  eyes  dancing. 

"No,  not  on  an  uncertainty." 

"But  it  is  not  an  uncertainty.  They  are  coming 
up  the  stairs." 

"Let  us  sit  down,"  said  Lyman. 

McElwin  and  Sawyer  entered  the  long  compos 
ing  room,  looked  about  and  then  walked  slowly 
toward  the  law  office. 

"Come  in,"  said  Lyman,  as  they  approached  the 
open  door. 

"You  are  not  alone,"  McElwin  remarked,  as  he 
stepped  in,  followed  by  Sawyer. 

"Neither  are  you,"  said  Lyman.    "Sit  down." 

"We  have  not  come  to  sit  down,  sir." 

"Then  you  must  pardon  my  not  rising.  This 
languid  spring  air  makes  me  tired." 


76  OLD  EBENEZER 

"Sir,  we  wish  to  see  you  in  your  private  office." 

"And  that  is  where  you  find  me.  This  was  my 
public  law  office,  but  now  it  is  my  private  editorial 
room." 

"But  your  privacy  is  invaded,"  said  the  banker, 
glancing  at  Warren. 

"So  I  have  observed,"  Lyman  replied,  looking  at 
Sawyer. 

"Ah,  but  enough  of  this.    Can  we  see  you  alone." 

"I  don't  believe  I'd  waste  any  more  time  beating 
the  bush,"  said  Sawyer.  "Let's  come  to  the  point." 

"That's  not  a  bad  suggestion,"  Lyman  replied. 
"We  have  about  thrashed  all  the  leaves  off  the 
bush." 

The  banker  cleared  his  throat:  "Mr.  Lyman, 
even  after  a  night  of  worried  reflection,  I  am  even 
now  hardly  able  to  realize  the  monstrous  outrage 
that  has  been  committed  at  the  instance  of  a  the- 
ologic  imbecile,  helped  by  a  travesty  on  law  en 
acted  by  a  general  assembly  of  ditch  diggers  and 
plowmen." 

"That  is  a  very  good  speech,  Mr.  McElwin.  But 
I  don't  know  that  any  outrage  has  been  committed. 
Let  us  call  it  an  irregularity." 


OLD  EBENEZER  77 

"We'll  call  it  an  infernal  shame,"  Sawyer  de 
clared,  swelling. 

"No,"  Warren  struck  in,  "call  it  a  great  piece 
of  news  gone  wrong.  If  I  had  my  way  it  would  be 
creeping  down  between  column  rules  right  now." 

"Infamous!"  cried  the  banker.  "Don't  you  dare 
to  print  a  word  of  it." 

"Oh,  I'd  dare  all  right  enough,  if  Lyman's  mod 
esty  didn't  forbid  it." 

"Then,  sir,  I  must  condemn  your  impudence, 
and  commend  Mr.  Lyman's  consideration." 

"We  are  still  beating  the  bush,"  Sawyer  broke 
in. 

"And  no  scared  rabbit  has  run  out,"  said  Lyman. 

"We  might  be  after  a  wolf  instead  of  a  rabbit," 
Sawyer  replied.  The  banker  gave  him  a  look  of 
warning. 

"Yes,"  said  Lyman,  "you  might  hunt  a  wolf 
and  find  a  panther." 

"I  take  that  as  a  threat,"  the  banker  spoke  up. 

"Oh,  not  at  all,"  Lyman  replied.  "It  was  merely 
to  help  carry  out  a  figure  of  speech." 

"Let's  get  to  business,"  said  Sawyer. 
"All   right,"    Lyman   agreed.      "But   you    don't 
expect  me  to  state  the  object  of  your  visit." 


78  OLD  EBENEZER 

"No,  sir.  We  can  do  that  easy  enough,"  said 
McElwin.  Then  he  thrust  his  hand  into  his  pocket 
and  drew  forth  a  paper.  "Mr.  Lyman,  we  have 
here  a  petition  to  the  Chancery  Court,  asking  for 
the  setting  aside  of  a  ridiculous  marriage,  the  laugh 
ing-stock  of  all  matrimonial  ceremonies.  The  en 
trapped  lady's  name  has  been  affixed,  and  we  now 
ask,  sir,  that  you  append  your  signature." 

He  stepped  forward  to  the  table  near  which 
Lyman  was  sitting,  and  spread  out  the  paper. 
Lyman  smiled  and  shook  his  head.  "This  is  so 
sudden,"  he  remarked,  and  Warren  tittered. 

"Sudden,  sir?" 

"Yes,  not  unexpected,  but  sudden.  I  must  have 
time  to  think." 

"To  think?    How  long,  sir?" 

"Well,  say  about  six  months." 

"There's  no  use  wasting  words  with  this  fellow," 
said  Sawyer.  "We'll  make  him  sign  it." 

Lyman  looked  at  him.  "I  understand  that  you 
are  a  buyer  and  seller  of  mules,"  he  remarked. 
"That  may  account  for  your  impulsiveness.  But 
at  present  you  are  not  in  the  mule  market,  that  is, 
not  as  a  buyer." 


OLD  EBENEZER  79 

"Come,"  said  McElwin,  "we  don't  want  any 
trouble." 

"But  if  we  have  it,"  Lyman  replied,  "let  it  come 
on  before  it  is  time  to  go  to  press.  Warren  wants 
news." 

McElwin  bit    his  brown  lip,  and  Sawyer  fumed. 

"Don't  put  it  off  too  long,"  said  Warren,  "I've 
hired  a  negro  to  turn  the  press." 

"This  is  infamous!"  the  banker  shouted,  stamp 
ing  the  floor.  "It  is  beyond  belief."  Then  he  strove 
to  calm  himself.  "Mr.  Lyman,  I  ask  you,  as  a  man, 
to  sign  this  petition." 

"The  interview  has  wrought  upon  my  nerves. 
Mr.  McElwin,  and  if  I  should  sign  it  now  the  Court 
might  look  upon  my  signature  as  obtained  under 
coercion." 

"Ridiculous,  sir.    I  never  saw  a  man  more  quiet." 

"That  is  the  mistake  of  your  agitated  eye.  My 
nerves  are  in  a  tangle." 

"Let  me  fix  it,"  said  Sawyer,  swelling  toward 
Lyman. 

Lyman  smiled  at  him:  "You  are  pretty  heavy 
in  the  shoulders,  Mr.  Sawyer,  but  you  slope  down 
too  fast.  I  don't  believe  your  legs  are  very  good. 


80  OLD  EBENEZER 

You  might  say  that  I  don't  slope  enough,  or  not 
at  all,  but  I'm  wire,  Yale-drawn.  You  are  meaty, 
vealy,  the  boys  would  say,  but  if  you  think  that 
you'd  feel  healthier  and  more  contented  toward 
the  world  after  a  closer  association  with  me — " 

"Come,  none  of  that,"  the  banker  interrupted. 
And  then  to  Lyman  he  added:     "I  appeal  to  your 


reason,  sir." 


"A  bad  thing  to  appeal  to  when  it  sits  against 
you.  It  is  like  appealing  to  a  wind  blowing  toward 
you.  But  before  I  forget  it  I  should  like  to  ask 
what  this  man  Sawyer  has  to  do  with  it?" 

"He  and  my  daughter  are  engaged,  sir." 

"Well,"  said  Lyman,  "that  might  have  been,  but 
they  are  not  now.  Let  me  ask  you  an  impertinent 
question:  Does  she  love  him?" 

Sawyer  started.  The  banker  shifted  his  position. 
'1  told  you  that  they  were  engaged,"  said  McElwin. 

"I  know  you  did,  and  that  is  the  reason  I  asked 
you  if  she  loves  him.  Let  me  ask  another  imperti 
nent  question:  Didn't  you  appeal  to  her  to  marry 
him?" 

"Who  suggested  that— that  impudence,  sir?" 

"You  did.     Didn't  you  tell  her  that  he  was  the 


OLD  EBENEZER  81 

most  promising  young  man  in  the  neighborhood  and 
that  she  must  marry  him?  Hold  on  a  moment. 
And  didn't  your  wife  take  the  young  woman's  part, 
declaring  that  she  looked  higher,  and  wasn't  she 
finally  compelled  to  yield?" 

"I  will  not  answer  such  shameless  questions." 

"Well,  then,  I  must  bid  you  good  day." 

"Without  signing  this  petition?" 

"Without  so  much  as  reading  it.  But  I  will 
agree  to  do  this.  When  your  daughter  comes  to 
me  and  tells  me  that  she  loves  Mr.  Sawyer,  that  her 
happiness  depends  upon  him,  then  I  will  sign  it. 
At  present  I  am  her  protector." 

The  banker  snorted,  but  calmed  himself.  "You 
a  protector — a  mediator!  Sir,  you  continue  to 
insult  me." 

"He  ought  to  be  kicked  out  of  his  own  office," 
Sawyer  swore. 

"Yes,  but  it  would  take  a  mule,  rather  than  a 
mule  driver.  But  I  don't  want  anything  more  to 
say  to  you.  I  know  your  history;  you  wouldn't 
hesitate  to  shoot  a  man  in  the  back,  but  when  it 
comes  to  a  face  to  face  fight,  you  are  a  coward. 
Shut  up.  Not  a  word  out  of  you.  Mr.  McElwin, 


82  OLD  EBENEZER 

I  sympathize  with  your  wife  and  your  daughter, 
but  I  am  not  at  all  sorry  for  you.  Good  morning." 

The  angry  visitors  strode  out,  with  many  a  ges 
ture  of  unspeakable  anger.  "Well,"  said  Warren, 
"that  beats  anything  I  ever  saw.  How  did  you 
learn  so  much  about  his  family  affairs?  Who  told 
you?" 

"You  told  me  Sawyer's  history,  and  I  made  a 
bold  guess  at  the  rest." 

"And  you  nailed  him.  Well,  I'll  swear  if  it  ain't 
a  jubilee.  But  there's  no  news  in  it  for  me." 

"There  may  be  some  day,"  Lyman  replied. 


CHAPTER  IX. 
AT  CHURCH. 

On  the  following  Sunday,  which  in  fact  was  the 
day  after  the  scene  in  the  office,  Lyman  went  to 
church.      There    were    several    churches    in    Old 
Ebenezer,    but    he    chose    the    one    which    was 
the    religious    affiliation    of    the    banker's    family. 
A     number     of     clean     looking     young     fellows 
stood    outside    to    gaze    at    the    girls    going    in, 
and  they  nudged  one  another  and  giggled  as  they 
saw   Lyman  approaching.     He  pretended  not  to 
notice  them,   going  straightway  into  the   church. 
Most  of  the  pews  were  free,  and  he  sat  down  about 
the  middle  of  the  house  and  began  carefully  to  look 
about  over  the  congregation.     A  strange  feeling 
possessed  him,  and  he  looked  back  with  a  thrill 
when  he  heard  the  rustle  of  skirts  in  the  doorway. 
At  last  he  saw  her  and  he  thought  that  Zeb  Saw 
yer  came  with  her  to  the  door.    The  banker  and  his 
stately  wife  came  in,  but  Lyman  had  no  eye  for 
them.     He  sat  almost  in  a  trance,  gazing  at  the 


84  OLD  EBENEZER 

young  woman  as  she  walked  slowly  down  the  op 
posite  aisle.  She  reminded  him  of  a  peach  tree 
blooming  in  the  early  spring,  there  was  so  much 
pink  and  the  rich  color  of  cream  about  her.  She  sat 
down  not  far  from  him  and  he  gazed  at  the  silk- 
brown  hair  on  the  back  of  her  neck.  Once  she 
looked  around  but  her  eye  did  not  rest  on  him.  She 
sang  with  the  congregation,  and  he  selected  a  sweet 
tone  for  her  voice,  and  smiled  afterward  to  dis 
cover  that  it  was  in  the  voice  of  a  plain  woman 
seated  near  her.  Some  one  sat  down  beside  him, 
and  he  was  surprised  to  find  Caruthers. 

The  lawyer  was  surprised  too,  and  he  made  a 
motion  as  if  to  move  away. 

"Never  mind,"  whispered  Lyman,  "stay  where 
you  are." 

"Thank  you,"  Caruthers  whispered  in  turn.  "I 
didn't  know  but  that  fog  was  still  between  us." 

"It  is,  and  that's  the  reason  we  didn't  recognize 
each  other  sooner." 

"Then  I'd  better  move." 

"It  is  not  necessary.    I  can  stand  it  if  you  can." 

"All  right.    Deuce  of  an  affair  youVe  got  into." 

"Yes,  rather  out  of  the  ordinary." 


OLD  EBENEZER  85 

"Has  the  old  man  offered  you  money  to  turn 
loose?" 

"He  offered  to  lend  me  a  small  sum." 

"Why  don't  you  make  him  give  you  a  big  sum?" 

"Because  I  am  not  a  scoundrel." 

"No.     Because  you  are  weak.     I  would." 

"Yes,"  Lyman  whispered.  "Because  you  are  a 
scoundrel." 

"Don't  say  that  to  me." 

"Sit  over  there,"  said  Lyman. 

Caruthers  moved  away,  and  Lyman  sat  gazing 
at  the  young  woman.  "I  am  going  to  be  of  ser 
vice  to  her,"  he  mused.  "And  one  of  these  days 
when  she  finds  herself  really  in  love  she  will  thank 
me.  She  is  dazzling,  but  I  don't  believe  I  could 
love  her.  I  don't  believe  she  has  very  much  sense. 
She  looks  like  a  painting.  I'd  like  to  see  her  in  an 
empire  gown.  I  wonder  what  she  thinks  of  me. 
Perhaps  she  doesn't."  He  smiled  at  himself,  and 
then  became  aware  that  the  preacher  was  in  the 
heated  midst  of  his  sermon. 

While  the  congregation  was  moving  out,  with 
greetings  in  low  voices,  and  with  many  a  smiling 
nod,  the  banker  caught  sight  of  Lyman,  and  made 


86  OLD  EBENEZER 

a  noise  as  if  puffing  out  a  mouthful  of  smoke.  His 
wife,  who  was  slightly  in  front,  glanced  back  at 
him. 

"That  wretched  Lyman,"  he  said,  leaning  toward 
her. 

"Where?"  she  asked. 

"Over  at  the  right,  but  don't  look  at  him.  Every 
body  is  staring  at  us." 

"Where  is  Eva?" 

"You  ought  to  know,"  he  answered. 

"She  is  coming,  just  behind  us." 

They  passed  out.  Lyman  saw  Zeb  Sawyer  stand 
ing  at  the  door.  He  bowed  to  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Mc- 
Elwin  and  continued  to  stand  there,  waiting  for  the 
young  woman.  She  came  out.  She  said  some 
thing,  and  catching  the  expression  of  her  face  Ly 
man  thought  she  must  have  remonstrated  with 
him.  But  she  permitted  him  to*  join  her,  and  they 
walked  away  slowly.  Lyman  overtook  them. 

"Pardon  me,"  he  said  to  her,  paying  no  attention 
to  Sawyer,  "but  do  you  realize  the  scandalous  ab 
surdity  of  your  action  at  his  moment?" 

"Sir!"  Her  graceful  neck  stiffened  as  she  looked 
at  him. 


OLD  EBENEZER 


87 


"Don't  you  know  that  it  is  not  in  good  form  to 
receive  the  attentions  of  an  old  lover  so  soon  after 
marriage?" 

She  stopped,  jabbed  the  ground  with  her  parasol 
and  laughed.  But  in  a  moment  she  had  repented 
of  her  merriment.  "I  wish  you  would  go  away," 
she  said.  "You  have  already  caused  me  tears 
enough." 

"What,  so  soon?  The  beautific  smile,  rather  than 
the  tear  should  be  the  emblem  of  the  honeymoon. 
But  this  is  not  what  I  approached  you  to  say.  I 
wish  to  ask  when  I  may  expect  a  visit  from  you." 

"I,  visit  you!" 

"Yes.  To  ask  me  to  sign  the  petition  to  the 
Court." 

"I  ask  you  now,  sir." 

"There!"  said  Sawyer,  walking  close  beside  the 
young  woman. 

"In  the  name  of  the  love  you  bear  this  man?" 

She  looked  at  him  with  a  blush.  "In  the  name 
of  my  father,  my  mother  and  myself,"  she  said. 

"Oh,"  said  he,  "you  are  not  the  simple-minded 
beauty  I  expected  to  find.  I  suspect  that  your  flat 
terers  have  not  given  you  a  fair  chance.  It  is  difH- 


88  OLD  EBENEZER 

cult  to  look  through  the  dazzle  and  estimate  the 
intelligence  of  a  queen.'* 

"Really!  You  come  with  a  new  flattery.  My 
father's  money — " 

"Miss,  or  madam,  your  father  is  a  pauper  in 
comparison  with  the  man  who  loves  nature.  He  is 
a  slave,  living  the  life  of  a  slave-driver.  He  is  proud 
of  you,  not  because  you  are  a  woman,  but  because 
you  are,  to  him,  a  picture  in  a  gilt  frame." 

"I  just  know  everybody  is  looking  at  us,"  she 
said. 

"You  mean  that  you  are  afraid  some  of  them 
may  not  be  looking." 

"Really!    You  are  impudent,  Mr.  " 

"Have  you  forgotten  your  own  name?  Oh,  by 
the  way,  your  maiden  name  was  McElwin,  I  be 
lieve." 

She  halted  again  to  laugh.  "Oh,  this  is  too 
funny  for  anything,"  she  said.  "Isn't  it,  Zeb?" 

"It  won't  be  if  your  father  looks  around."  $ 

"He  is  too  near  the  bank  to  look  around  now," 
Lyman  replied.  "He  must  keep  his  eyes  on  the 
temple." 

"Zeb,"  she  said,  "why  do  you  let  this  man  tallc 
that  way?  I  thought  you  had  more  spirit." 


OLD  EBENEZER  89 

"He  has  the  spirit  of  anger,  but  not  of  courage," 
Lyman  remarked. 

"Eva,"  said  Sawyer,  "out  in  the  Fox  Grove 
neighborhood  this  man  is  known  as  a  desperado." 

"That  phase  of  character  was  forced  upon  me, 
madam,"  Lyman  replied,  "and  I  had  to  accept  it. 
Just  as  this  man  has  been  compelled  to  accept  the 
name  of  notorious  bully  and  coward,  which  was 
forced  upon  him.  He  gained  some  little  prestige 
by  shooting  an  unarmed  man,  and  has  been  afraid 
to  meet  him  since.  The  people  have  found  this  out, 
and  hence  his  name  of  coward." 

"It's  a—"  Sawyer  hesitated. 

"It's  a  what?"  Lyman  asked. 

"A  mistake." 

"A  soft  word,"  said  the  young  woman. 

"A  gentleman  uses  soft  words  in  the  presence  of 
ladies,"  Sawyer  replied. 

"And  a  weak  man  uses  a  weak  word  in  apology 
for  a  weak  character,"  Lyman  spoke  up. 

"Oh,  I  never  heard  anything  like  this  before," 
the  young  woman  declared.  "I  didn't  know  that 
men  could  be  so  entertaining." 


90  OLD  EBENEZER 

'The  potted  plant  astonished  at  the  virility  of 
the  weed,"  said  Lyman.  "But  I  must  leave  you 
here.  My  office  is  up  there.  Mr.  Sawyer  knows 
where  it  is.  His  name  appears  on  my  list  of  callers. 
No,  thank  you,  I  cannot  dine  with  you  to-day." 

"Oh,  how  impertinent,"  she  laughed.  "Nobody 
asked  you,  sir." 

"No,  but  I'll  ask  you.  My  partner  is  up  there 
now,  with  his  oil  stove  lighted  and  the  coffee  hot. 
We  have  some  broken  dishes,  and  some  cups  that 
are  cracked  with  age.  Won't  you  come  up  and 
dine  with  us?" 

"Why,  I  thought  you  boarded  with  Cousin  Jas 
per  Staggs.  And  ain't  he  the  funniest  thing?  I 
like  him  ever  so  much." 

"I  do  board  with  him,  but  I  often  dine  out. 
Won't  you  come  up  and  have  a  box  of  sardines?" 

"No,  I  thank  you.  Wait  a  moment.  When  are 
you  going  to  sign  that  petition  for  father?" 

"When  am  I  going  to  sign  it  for  you?" 

"Why,  as  soon  as  you  can." 

"No.  But  as  soon  as  you  comply  with  all  the  re 
quirements  of  sentimental  rather  than  of  statute 
law." 


CHAPTER  X. 
OI,D  FBI^OW  LAUGHED. 

"You  are  a  pestiferous  son-in-law/'  said  Warren, 
as  Lyman  entered  the  room.  "And  I  have  taken 
possession  of  your  private  quarters/'  he  added, 
pointing  to  a  pile  of  country  newspapers.  "I  have 
brought  them  in  here  to  see  if  I  could  gouge  some 
state  news  out  of  them.  I  know  you  don't  like  that 
sort  of  drudgery." 

"That  is  all  right.  But  why  do  you  call  me  a 
pestiferous  son-in-law?" 

"I  saw  you  through  the  window." 

"With  the  lady  and  the  mule?"  said  Lyman  sit 
ting  down.  "I  asked  them  in  to  dine  with  me." 

"Where?  You  say  Staggs  has  nothing  but  a 
'snack'  on  Sunday." 

"Up  here,  to  eat  crackers  and  sardines." 

"Extravagant  pauper.  I'm  glad  they  didn't 
come." 

"I  knew  they  wouldn't." 

"Did  she  ask  you  to  sign  the  populistic  petition?" 

(91) 


92  OLD  EBENEZER 

"Yes,  but  not  in  the  name  of  love  for  the  mule." 

"In  whose  name,  then?" 

"Of  her  father,  her  mother,  and  herself." 

"Are  you  going  to  sign  it?" 

"Not  until  she  convinces  me  that  she  loves  the 
mule,  and  I  don't  believe  she  can  ever  do  that.  She 
has  a  contempt  for  him,  and  I  believe  she  is  glad 
that  her  affairs  are  temporarily  tied  up.  She's 
charming." 

"There  you  go,  falling  in  love  with  a  strange  wo 
man." 

"No,  I  am  not  in  love  with  her,  but  I  am  natur 
ally  interested  in  her.  I  believe  she  has  sense." 

"Rather  too  pretty  for  that." 

"No,  she  is  handsome,  but  pretty  is  not  the  word. 
I'll  warrant  you  she  can  run  like  a  deer." 

"You  are  gone,"  said  Warren. 

"No,  I  am  simply  an  admirer.  But  admiration 
may  be  the  crumbling  bank  overlooking  the  river. 
I  may  fall,"  he  added,  with  a  laugh. 

"Don't.  She  has  been  taught  to  despise  a  real 
man.  Let  the  other  side  of  the  house  have  the 
trouble." 

"Yes,"  said  Lyman.     "It  is  better  to  be  under  the 


OLD  EBENEZER  93 

heel  of  the  express  company  than  under  the  heel 
of  love." 

"Don't  say  that,"  Warren  objected,  with  a  rueful 
shake  of  his  head.  "Some  things  are  too  serious 
to  be  joked  over.  It  is  all  right  to  make  light  of 
love,  for  that  is  a  light  thing,  but  an  express  com 
pany  is  heavy.  You  are  restless." 

Lyman  had  got  up  and  begun  to  walk  about  the 
room.  "Yes,  the  bright  day  calls  on  me  to  come 
out." 

"Isn't  it  the  memory  of  a  bright  face  that  calls 
on  you?" 

"No.     Well,  I'll  leave  you." 

"Won't  you  sit  down  to  a  sardine?" 

"No.  I'll  stroll  over  to  see  old  Jasper,  and  take 
cold  pot-luck  with  him." 

Old  Jasper,  his  wife  and  daughter  were  seated  at 
the  table  when  Lyman  entered  the  dining  room. 
"Just  in  time,"  the  old  fellow  cried.  "We  are  wait- 
ing  for  you,  although  we  didn't  expect  you.  We 
didn't  know  but  you'd  gone  up  to  McElwin's  to 
dinner.  Sit  down." 

Annie  laughed,  but  the  old  woman  looked  dis 
tressed.  "Jasper,  you  know  you  didn't  think  any 


94  OLD  EBENEZER 

such  a  thing.  And  if  you  did,  how  could  you? 
Mr.  Lyman  doesn't  intrude  himself  where  he's  not 
invited.  And  you  know  that  McElwin  is  so  par 
ticular." 

Lyman  frowned.  It  was  clear  that  Mrs.  Staggs, 
in  her  ignorance  and  in  her  awe  of  the  man  at  the 
bank,  could  not  feel  a  respect  for  intelligence  and 
the  refinement  of  a  book-loving  nature.  "You 
may  think  me  rude,"  said  Lyman,  "but  I  should  not 
regard  dining  at  his  house  a  great  privilege.  Leav 
ing  out  the  respect  I  have  for  the  young  woman,  it 
would  not  be  as  inspiring  a  meal  as  a  canned  min 
now  on  a  baize  table." 

"Why,  Mr.  Lyman,  how  can  you  say  that?"  the 
old  woman  cried. 

"Madam,  the  fishes  were  divided  among  the 
thousands  when  the  Son  of  Man  fed  the  multitude, 
and  that  was  a  more  inspiring  meal  than  could  have 
been  provided  by  Solomon  in  all  his  glory." 

The  old  man  let  his  knife  fall  with  a  clatter. 
"Oh,  he  got  you  then!"  he  cried.  "He  set  a  trap 
for  you  and  you  walked  right  into  it.  All  youVe 
got  to  do  is  to  set  a  trap  for  a  woman,  and  she'll 
walk  into  it  sooner  or  later." 


OLD  EBENEZER  95 

"For  goodness  sake,  hush,  Jasper.  A  body 
would  think  you  were  the  worst  enemy  I  have  on 
the  face  of  the  earth." 

"Enemy!  Who  said  anything  about  enemy?  I 
was  talking  about  a  trap.  But  it's  all  right.  We 
saw  you,  Lyman." 

"Yes,  and  we  didn't  know  it  was  going  to  hap 
pen,"  said  Annie.  "Everybody  was  watching  you. 
And  I  heard  a  woman  say  that  she  admired  your 
courage.  I  did,  I'm  sure." 

"I  didn't  feel  that  I  was  exhibiting  any  degree  of 
courage,"  Lyman  replied.  "All  I  had  to  fear  was 
the  young  woman." 

"But  the  man  is—" 

"A  coward,"  Lyman  broke  in. 

Old  Staggs  struck  the  table  with  his  fist.  "I  al 
ways  said  it!"  he  shouted.  "And  he's  another  one 
that  made  light  of  my  arrest  of  the  man  that  choked 
the  sheriff.  Coward!  of  course  he  is." 

Mrs.  Staggs  objected.  No  one  whom  McElwin 
had  chosen  for  a  son-in-law  could  be  a  coward. 
She  admitted  that  he  was  not  as  gentle  as  one  could 
wish.  His  life  had  been  led  out  of  doors.  But  he 
was  a  shrewd  business  man  and  would  make  a  good 


96  OLD  EBENEZER 

husband.  It  was  all  well  enough  in  some  instances 
to  permit  girls  to  choose  for  themselves,  but  a  girl 
was  often  likely  to  make  a  sad  mistake,  particularly 
a  girl  whose  home  life  had  been  surrounded  by 
every  luxury.  Love  was  a  very  pretty  thing,  but 
it  couldn't  live  so  long  as  poverty,  the  most  real 
thing  in  the  world.  The  old  man  winked  at  Ly- 
man.  He  said  that  age  might  soften  a  man,  but 
that  it  nearly  always  hardened  a  woman.  It  was 
rare  to  see  a  woman's  temper  improve  with  age, 
while  many  a  sober  minded  man  became  a  joker  in 
his  later  years.  Mrs.  Staggs  retorted  that  women 
had  enough  to  make  them  cross.  "They  have  an 
excuse  for  scoldin',"  she  said. 

"Nobody  has  so  good  an  argument  as  the  scold," 
the  old  man  replied. 

"They  have  men,  and  that's  argument  enough," 
said  his  wife. 

The  old  fellow  laughed.  "She  put  it  on  me  a 
little  right  there,"  he  declared.  "Yes,  sir,  I've  got 
a  steel  trap  clamped  on  my  foot  this  minute.  But 
what  do  you  think  of  the  situation  now,  Lyman;  I 
mean  your  situation?" 

"I  don't  know  of  any  material  change." 


OLD  EBENEZER  97 

"But  of  course  you  are  going  to  sign  the  peti 
tion,"  said  Mrs.  Staggs.  "Everybody  agrees  that 
you  must,  before  court  meets.  And  that  reminds 
me,  I  met  Henry  Bostic's  mother  today.  The  old 
lady  doesn't  appear  to  be  at  all  grieved  over  the 
part  her  son  took  in  the  affair.  It  would  nearly 
kill  me  if  a  son  of  mine  had  made  such  a  blunder." 

"It  was  no  blunder  on  his  part,  and  I  don't 
blame  him,"  said  Annie.  "No  one  thought  enough 
of  his  pretensions  to  ask  him  if  he  had  been  or 
dained.  And  besides,  Cousin  McElwin  had  made 
fun  of  him." 

"And  a  preacher  can  stand  anything  rather  than 
ridicule,"  Lyman  declared.  "He  may  forgive  all 
sorts  of  abuses,  but  cry  'Go  up,  old  bald  head!'  and 
immediately  he  calls  for  the  she-bears." 

"And  gives  thanks  when  he  hears  the  bears 
breaking  the  bones  of  his  enemies,"  said  the  old 
man. 

"I  don't  blame  him,"  replied  Lyman.  "Ridicule 
is  the  bite  of  the  spider,  and  it  ought  not  to  be  di 
rected  against  the  man  who  dedicates  his  life  to 
sacred  work." 

The  old  woman  gave  him  a  nod  of  approval: 


98  OLD  EBEKEZER 

"You  are  right,"  she  said.  "But  young  Henry 
ought  not  to  have  been  revengeful." 

"No,  not  as  the  ordinary  man  is  revengeful," 
Lyman  assented,  "but  we  serve  the  Lord  when  we 
humble  a  foolish  pride.  I  don't  think  McElwin 
could  have  done  a  crueler  thing  than  to  have 
crushed  the  mother's  heart  with  ridicule  for  the 
son." 

"But  about  the  petition,"  said  Annie.  "You  will 
sign  it,  won't  you?" 

"I  may." 

"But  why  should  you  refuse.     To  annoy  her?" 

"No,  to  protect  her." 

"She  would  be  awfully  angry  if  she  thought  you 
presumed  to  pose  as  her  protector.  But  let  us 
change  the  subject.  The  whole  town  is  talking 
about  it,  so  let  us  talk  of  something  else.  Are  you 
going  to  church  tonight?" 

"Yes,  with  you,  if  you  don't  object." 

"Oh,  I  couldn't  object,  but — but  don't  you  think 
it  might  cause  remark,  after  what  has  happened?" 

"There  you  go,  leading  back  to  it.  Sawyer 
walked  home  with  her;  did  that  cause  remark?" 


OLD  EBENEZER  99 

"Yes,  in  a  way ;  and  I  believe  she  will  wait  for  the 
divorce  before  she  goes  with  him  again." 

"Then  she  will  be  free  of  his  company  for  some 
time  to  come.  Well,"  he  added,  "I  won't  go  to 
church.  I'll  go  up  stairs  and  read  myself  to  sleep." 


CHAPTER  XL 
IN  THE  LANTERN  LIGHT. 

A.n  account  of  the  marriage,  written  by  an  ef 
fusive  correspondent,  was  published  in  a  newspaper 
at  the  State  Capital;  and  a  few  days  later  the  same 
journal  contained  an  editorial  bearing  upon  the  sub 
ject,  taking  the  populistic  party  to  task  for  its. la 
mentable  want  of  sense  in  legislation.  The  State 
press  took  the  matter  up,  and  then  the  "para- 
grapher"  had  his  season  of  merry-making.  "We 
have  always  heard  it  declared,"  said  one,  "that  mar 
riage  is  a  plunge  in  the  dark,  but  a  preacher  over  at 
Old  Ebenezer  proves  that  it  is  all  a  joke."  And 
this  from  another  one:  "'What  do  you  think  of 
young  Parson  Bostic?'  was  asked  of  Banker  Mc- 
Elwin.  'I  didn't  think  he  was  loaded/  the  financier 
replied."  It  was  said  that  a  great  batch  of  this 
drivel  was  cut  out,  credited  and  sent  to  McElwin, 
and  Lyman  accused  Warren,  but  he  denied  it, 
though  not  with  convincing  grace. 

One  evening  a  picnic  was  given  on  the  lawn  of 

(100) 


OLD  EBENEZER 

a  prominent  citizen.  It  had  been  heralded  as  a 
moonlight  event,  but  the  moon  was  sullen  and  the 
light  was  shed  from  paper  lanterns  hung  in  the 
trees.  There  was  to  be  no  dancing  and  no  for 
feit  games,  for  McElwin  was  still  raw,  and  the  master 
of  the  gathering  on  the  lawn  would  not  dare  to 
throw  sand  on  the  spots  where  the  rich  man's  pride- 
ful  skin  had  been  raked  off.  The  entertainment 
was  to  consist  of  talk  among  the  older  ones,  chat 
ter  among  the  slips  of  girls  and  striplings  of  men, 
with  music  for  all. 

"You  will  have  to  go  to  write  it  up,"  Warren  said 
to  Lyman. 

"It  won't  be  necessary  to  go,"  Lyman  replied. 
"We  can  hold  a  pleasanter  memory  of  such  events 
if  we  don't  really  see  them.  I  can  write  of  it  from 
a  distance." 

"Yes,  but  that  isn't  enterprise,  and  we  want  to 
prove  to  these  people  that  we  are  enterprising. 
They  must  see  you  on  the  ground." 

"All  right." 

"You  will  go,  then?" 

"That's  what  I  meant  when  I  said  all  right." 


102  OLD  EBENEZER 

"And  you  didn't  mean  that  you'd  simply  look 
over  the  fence  and  then  come  away?" 

"No,  I  mean  that  I'll  go  and  be  a  fool  with  the 
rest  of  them." 

"That's  all  I  ask.  Here's  an  invitation.  You'll 
have  to  show  it  at  the  gate." 

"Why  don't  you  go,  Warren?" 

"It  would  be  absurd." 

"Why?     Your  clothes  might  be  worse." 

"There  are  a  good  many  observations  that  don't 
apply  to  clothes.  The  entertainment  is  to  be  given 
by  the  Hon.  Mr.  S.  Boyd.  One  time,  with  great 
reluctance,  he  lifted  a  grinding  heel  off  my  head. 
I  owe  him  five  dollars." 

"And  it  would  be  embarrassing  to  meet  him,  by 
invitation,  on  his  own  lawn." 

"Yes.  I'll  pay  him  one  of  these  days,  but  of 
course  he  doesn't  know  that." 

"Probably  he  doesn't  even  suspect  it,"  said  Ly- 
man. 

"No.  He's  dull,  and  not  inclined  to  be  specula 
tive." 

"I  should  take  him  to  be  wildly  adventurous." 

"Why  so?" 


OLD  EBENEZER  103 

"He  let  you  have  five  dollars." 

"Oh,  I  see.  But  that's  all  right.  He'll  treat  you 
well.  Say,  he  may  pass  cigars  with  a  gilt  band 
around  them.  Put  a  few  in  your  pocket  for  me." 

"I  might  have  a  chance  to  sneak  a  whole  box." 

"Come,  don't  rub  the  lamp.  Rub  the  ring  and 
get  two  cigars.  I'll  sit  up  and  wait  for  them.  If 
Boyd  asks  you  why  I  have  been  dodging  him,  tell 
him  I'm  not  well." 

The  lawn  was  a  spread  of  blue  grass,  beneath 
trees  with  low,  hanging  boughs,  and  through  the 
misty  light  and  moving  shadows  the  house  looked 
like  a  castle.  The  air  was  vibrant  with  the  music  of 
the  "string"  band,  gathered  from  the  livery  stable  and 
the  barber  shop ;  and  mingled  with  the  music  as  if  it 
were  a  part  of  the  sound,  was  the  half  sad  scent  of 
the  crushed  geranium.  At  the  gate  a  black  man,  in 
a  long  coat  buttoned  to  the  ground,  took  Lyman's 
card  of  invitation.  From  groups  of  white  came  the 
laugh  of  youth,  and  from  darker  gatherings  came 
the  hum  of  talk.  Lyman  shook  hands  with  nearly 
every  one  whom  he  met,  laughing;  and  his  good 
humor  was  an  introduction  to  persons  he  had  never 
seen  before.  He  felt  that  he  was  a  part  of  a  joke 


104  OLD  EBENEZER 

which  everyone  was  enjoying.  The  Hon.  S.  Boyd 
came  forward  and  shook  hands  with  him. 

"I  am  delighted  to  welcome  you  to  my  grounds/' 
said  the  great  man,  speaking  as  if  he  had  invited 
Lyman  to  hunt  in  a  forest  of  a  thousand  acres. 
"And  your  partner,  will  he  be  here?" 

"No,  he's  not  very  well  this  evening/'  Lyman 
answered,  walking  slowly,  arm-hooked  with  the 
great  man. 

"I  am  sorry  to  hear  it.  A  man  of  wonderful  en 
ergy,  sir.  Quite  the  sort  of  a  man  we  need  in  Old 
Ebenezer.  And  I  am  glad  to  see  that  his  paper  is 
picking  up.  I  was  over  at  the  State  Capital  the 
other  day,  and  the  Governor  spoke  of  something 
taken  from  its  columns." 

"Mr.  Warren  remembers  your  kindness,  sir,"  re 
plied  Lyman;  "not  only  your  words  of  encourage 
ment,  but  the  money  you  so  generously  advanced 
to  him." 

"A  paltry  sum,  and  really  I  had  forgotten  it." 

"The  sum  was  not  large,  but  any  debt  is  embar 
rassing  until  we  pay  it,  and  then  we  can  look  back 
upon  it  as  a  pleasure." 

"Sound  doctrine,  Mr.  Lyman.     But  there  must 


OLD  EBENEZER  105 

be  no  embarrassment  in  this  matter.  So,  if  you 
please,  you  may  tell  Mr.  Warren  that  I  will  take 
enough  copies  of  the  next  edition  to  cancel  the  debt. 
Not  enough  to  embarrass  him,  you  understand.  It 
would  come  to  about  one  hundred  copies,  I  believe. 
But  let  him  make  it  two  hundred,  as  I  wish  to  send 
it  out  pretty  largely,  and  I  will  send  him  five  dollars 
in  addition.  Will  you  pardon  me  if  I  mix  business 
with  pleasure,  and  give  you  the  money  now?"  He 
unhooked  his  arm. 

"I  shall  be  delighted  to  act  as  your  messenger," 
Lyman  replied. 

"I  thank  you,  sir;  you  are  very  obliging.  And 
now,"  he  added,  when  he  had  given  Lyman  the 
money,  "we'll  go  over  to  the  grotto  and  get  a  lem 
onade  and  a  cigar." 

They  went  to  a  hollow  pile  of  stones,  where  a  ne 
gro  stood  ready  to  serve  them.  "Help  yourself  to 
the  lemonade.  It  was  deemed  advisable  to  have 
nothing  strong.  A  very  old  ladle,  that,  sir;  it  was 
the  property  of  my  grandfather.  The  cigars,  Ja 
cob,  the  gold  band.  Now,  here's  a  cigar,  sir,  that 
I  can  recommend.  Oh,  don't  stop  at  one.  Here," 
he  added,  grabbing  a  handful,  "put  these  in  your 


106  OLD  EBENEZER 

pocket,  for  I  am  sure  you'll  not  get  any  like  them 
down  town.  Well,  if  you  will  be  kind  enough  to 
excuse  me,  I'll  slip  off  to  look  after  my  other 
guests." 

Lyman  walked  about,  joking  and  gathering  the 
names  of  the  joyous  maidens,  the  heavy  men,  the 
light  young  fellows,  and  the  dames  who  had  come  to 
enjoy  their  daughters'  conquests  and  their  own  dig 
nity.  With  a  feeling  of  disappointment  he  won 
dered  why  the  banker's  family  was  not  represented, 
and  more  than  once  he  looked  about  sweepingly, 
believing  that  he  had  heard  the  loud  voice  of  Zeb 
Sawyer.  He  mused  that  his  work  was  done,  that 
the  company  had  transacted  its  business  with  him, 
and  he  turned  aside  to  a  quiet  spot,  to  a  seat  be 
hind  a  clump  of  shrubs,  to  smoke  a  cigar  and  to 
picture  Warren's  surprise  and  delight.  The  cigar 
burned  out  and  he  was  about  to  go,  when  he  heard 
the  ripple  of  skirts  on  the  soft  grass.  A  woman 
came  across  the  sward,-  and  in  the  light  of  a  neigh 
boring  lantern  Lyman  recognized  Eva.  She  saw 
him  and  halted. 

"Won't  you  please  sit  down,"  he  said,  rising. 

"I — I — didn't  know  you  were  here,"  she  replied, 
looking  back. 


OLD  EBENEZER  107 

"The  fact  that  you  came  is  proof  enough  of  that," 
said  he,  with  a  quiet  laugh. 

"How  shrewd  you  are,"  she  replied. 
"No,  I  am  only  considerate.     But  now  that  you 
are  here,  won't  you  please  sit  down.     I  am  weary  of 
senseless  chatter,  and  I  would  like  to  talk  to  you." 
"Oh,  I  couldn't  refuse,  after  such  a  compliment 
as  that.     And,  besides,  I  am  tired." 

She  sat  down;  he  continued  to  stand.     She  did 
not  appear  to  notice  it. 

"I  looked  all  over  the  ground,  but  could  not  find 
you,"  he  said. 

"Mamma  and  I  did  not  come  until  just  now.    We 
live  so  near  that  we  put  off  our  coming  until  late." 
"Did  your  father  come?" 

"No.    Only  mamma  and  I.    Some  of  us  had  to 
come." 

"Just  you  and  your  mother,  and  not  Mr.  Saw 
yer?" 

"He  didn't  come  with  us.     I  don't  know  that  he 
is  here."     For  a  few  moments  they  were  silent.     "I 
am  so  tired  of  everything,"  she  said. 
"Tired  of  yourself?" 
"Yes,  I  am." 


OLD  EBENEZER 

"Why  don't  you  do  something?  Did  you  ever 
think  of  that?" 

"What  would  be  the  use  of  thinking  of  it? 
There's  nothing  for  me  to  do." 

"There  is  something  for  everyone  to  do.  Why 
don't  you  take  up  some  line  of  study?" 

"I  hate  study.     I  can't  put  my  mind  on  it." 

"But  you  could  read  good  books." 

"I  do,  but  I  get  tired.  I  must  have  been  petted 
too  much." 

"Ah!  A  girl  is  beginning  to  be  strong  when  she 
feels  that  way.  I  suppose  you  have  been  flattered 
all  your  life." 

"Do  I  show  it?" 

"Yes.     But  not  so  much  as  you  did." 

"And  do  you  know  the  reason?" 

"I  don't  know,  unless  it  is  that  you  have  been 
sobered  by  a  joke." 

"That  has  something  to  do  with  it.  You  have 
made  me  think.  You  don't  regard  me  as  a  spoiled 
child ;  you  seem  to  believe  that  I  have  a  mind.  And 
that,  even  if  you  were  a  field  hand,  would  cause  me 
to  be  interested  in  you.  I  would  like  to  talk  with 
you  seriously,  but  you  joke  with  me." 


OLD  EBENEZER  109 

"To.  hear  you  in  a  serious  mood  would  be  as 
sweet  as  an  anthem." 

"You  must  not  talk  that  way.  I  want  your 
friendship."  ; 

"You  shall  have  it." 

"I  need  your  help." 

"You  shall  have  it." 

"I  don't  want  to  be  wicked,"  she  said,  looking  up 
at  him,  "but  I  beg  of  you  not  to  sign  that  petition 
to  the  Court,  until—" 

"Until  when?" 

"Until  Zeb  Sawyer  is — is — out  of  the  way.  Peo 
ple  flatter  me  and  praise  me,  but  they  don't  know 
what  I  have  suffered.  And  my  father  doesn't  un 
derstand  me.  When  you  called  Sawyer  a  coward  I 
wanted  to  shout  in  the  street." 

"Still  you  consented  to  marry  him." 

"Yes,  to  live  for  a  little  longer  in  peace.  But  I 
know  a  tall  rock  over  on  the  creek,  and  from  the 
top  of  it  is  a  long  way  to  the  cruel  boulders  below. 
They  call  it  'Lover's  Leap/  and  I  have  thought 
after  awhile  the  name  might  be  changed  to  'De 
spair's  Leap.'  At  night  I  have  dreamed  of  that 
rock,  and  sometimes  my  dream  would  continue 


HO  OLD  EBENEZER 

after  I  opened  my  eyes.  Our  engagement  was  for 
one  year,  and  often  I  said  to  myself  that  I  had  but 
one  year  longer  to  live.  At  church  I  would  pray, 
and  I  could  hear  the  words,  'Children,  obey  your 
parents/  And  then  I  would  go  home  and  pretend 
to  be  happy  in  that  obedience." 

"But  you  signed  the  petition." 

"Yes,  with  a  prayer  that  you  would  not  sign  it." 

"And  I  won't." 

"Not  even  if  they  should  come  with  pistols?" 

"Not  if  they  should  come  with  a  mob  and  a  rope." 

She  looked  up  at  him,  with  her  hands  clasped  in 
her  lap.  The  light  fell  upon  her  face,  and  in  its  hu 
man  loveliness  was  the  divine  spirit  of  sadness.  Ly- 
man  looked  upward  at  the  fleece  among  the  stars, 
the  lace  curtain  of  the  night. 

"With  the  strength  accidentally  dedicated  to  me 
by  a  body  of  men  assembled  to  break  the  customs 
of  a  class  opposed  to  them,  I  will  hold  you  a  pris 
oner,  free  from  the  grasp  of  a  feelingless  clown,"  he 
said.  "I  will  protect  you.  And  when  you  have 
really  fallen  in  love,  and  believe  that  your  happiness 
depends  upon  a  man,  I  will  sign  the  petition." 

Wit}i  the  frankness  of  a  child  she  sprung  from 


OLD  EBENEZER  111 

the  seat  and  grasped  his  hand:  "Oh,  you  stand  be 
tween  me  and  the  tall  rock,"  she  said.  "Good  night 
— God  bless  you." 

She  ran  away.  Lyman  looked  after  her,  with 
dim  vision — her  white  gown  spectral  in  the  misty 
light. 


CHAPTER  XII. 
WANTED  To  DREAM. 

Lyman  walked  slowly  down  the  tree-darkened 
lane  that  led  to  the  main  street  of  the  village.  Be 
neath  a  forest  oak,  where  the  desolate  town  cow  and 
the  stray  sheep  had  come  to  seek  freedom  from  the 
annoyances  of  the  day,  he  halted  and  looked  back. 
The  few  remaining  lanterns  were  like  fire-flies  in  a 
growth  of  giant  grass.  The  members  of  the 
"string-band"  were  singing  a  negro  melody.  The 
notes  came  floating  with  the  mirth-shriek  of  a 
maiden,  and  the  hoarse  laugh  of  the  boy  who 
aspired  to  be  a  man.  Far  away  on  a  hillside  a  dog 
was  barking  at  the  mystery  of  night.  Near  by  a 
mocking-bird,  in  a  cage,  was  singing  out  of  the 
melodious  fullness  of  his  heart.  The  muser  felt  two 
distinct  senses,  one  that  a  sweet  voice  had  touched 
the  quick  of  his  nature,  the  other  that  he  had  been 
grandiloquent  in  his  talk  while  looking  at  the  stars. 
She  had  threatened  to  destroy  herself.  No,  she 
would  not  do  that.  She  could  but  shrink  from  it  if 

(112) 


OLD  EBENEZER  113 

the  time  should  come.  But  to  resolve  upon  it, 
driven  by  a  father  who  could  not  understand  her. 
was  so  girlishly  natural,  so  complete  a  bit  of  ro 
mantic  despair,  that  she  must  have  found  it  a  source 
of  great  consolation. 

Warren  was  waiting.  "I'll  bet  you  didn't  bring  a 
cigar,"  he  said,  tossing  a  cob  pipe  on  the  table. 

"You've  lost,"  Lyman  replied,  rolling  out  a  hand 
ful  of  cigars  upon  a  pile  of  newspapers. 

Warren  reached  over,  his  eyes  snapping.  "Gold 
bands,"  he  said.  "Oh,  I  knew  you  would  bring 
them  if  they  were  to  be  had.  You  are  all  right, 
Samuel,"  he  added,  striking  a  match.  "Yes,  sir, 
but  I  have  been  sitting  up  here,  almost  envious  of 
the  good  time  you  were  having.  However,  I  was 
not  sorry  that  I  had  not  faced  the  Hon.  S.  Boyd. 
He  frowned  at  me  the  last  time  we  met.  I  can 
stand  to  be  dunned  once  in  awhile,  but  I  don't  like 
to  be  frowned  at.  Did  he  say  anything  about  the 
money  I  owe  him?" 

"Well,"  said  Lyman,  leaning  back  in  his  chair, 
"the  subject  was  mentioned." 

"What,  the  old  skinflint!  Did  he  blurt  it  out  be 
fore  everybody?" 


114  OLD  EBENEZER 

"No.     He  talked  to  me  privately." 

"Well,  I  am  glad  he  had  that  much  consideration. 
But  why  did  he  want  to  speak  of  it  at  all?  I  sup 
pose  you  told  him  I'd  pay  it  as  soon  as  I  could, 
didn't  you?" 

"Yes,  I  told  him  so." 

"Well,  then,  what  more  does  he  want?  No  man 
can  pay  a  debt  before  he  can.  There  are  in  this 
town  some  of  the  queerest  people  I  ever  saw.  They 
expect  a  man  to  pay  a  debt  whether  he's  got  the 
money  or  not.  I'll  pay  that  fellow  and  tire  him  to 
death  with  meeting  him  afterward.  I'll  cross  the 
street  a  dozen  times  a  day  to  shake  hands  with  him. 
Yes,  sir,  I'll  make  him  wish  that  I  owed  him." 

"He  sent  you  this,"  said  Lyman,  handing  over 
the  five  dollars. 

Warren's  eyes  flew  wide  open  with  astonishment. 
"Sent  it  to  me?" 

"Yes,  he  wants  two  hundred  copies  of  our  next 
edition.  One  hundred  to  discharge  the  old  debt, 
and  the  five  dollars  is  to  pay  for  the  other  hundred." 

"Lyman,  you  rubbed  the  lamp.  Don't  rub  it 
again  right  away.  Let  me  hold  this  thing  a  min 
ute." 


OLD  EBENEZER 


115 


"You  may  hold  it  until  the  express  company 
takes  it  away  from  you." 

"Hush,  don't  make  a  noise.     You'll  wake  me  up. 
Let  me  dream/' 

"She  was  there,"  said  Lyman,  after  a  brief  silence. 

"A  dreamer  listening  to  a  dream,"  Warren  va 
cantly  replied. 

"I  had  quite  a  talk  with  her.  She  is  not  a  doll. 
She's  a  woman  with  a  soul  and  a  mind." 

"You  are  gone,"  said  Warren,  wrapping  the  bank 
note  about  his  finger. 

"No,  I'm  not  gone.  I  am  decidedly  here,  and  I 
am  going  to  stay  here  to  protect  her." 

He  related  the  talk  that  had  passed  between  the 
young  woman  and  himself.  He  told  even  of  his 
gaze  at  the  stars  and  his  theatric  declaration  to  stand 
as  her  protector.  But  he  did  not  tell  that  she  had 
caught  his  hand.  In  that  act  there  was  something 
sacred  to  him. 

"As  I  said  before,  you're  all  right,"  declared 
Warren.  "No  one  but  a  great  man  could  have 
done  what  you  have  done  tonight.  Why,  that  old 
fellow  was  a  jewel,  and  was  not  revealed  until  you 
brushed  the  dust  off  him.  Two  hundred  copies? 


116  OLD  EBENEZEk 

He  shall  have  them,  together  with  a  write-up  that 
will  make  this  town's  hair  stand  on  end.  And,  by 
the  way,  don't  you  think  you  had  better  get  at  it 
while  it's  fresh?" 

"Don't  you  fear.  It  will  never  fade,  my  boy.  It 
is  in  my  mind  to  stay." 

"Look  here,  don't  let  that  joke  turn  on  you/' 
said  Warren.  "It  would  be  serious  if  you  should 
fall  in  love  with  her." 

"Yes,  but  I  won't." 

"Were  you  ever  caught  by  a  woman?" 

"Not  very  hard;  were  you?" 

"Rather,"  Warren  answered;  "I  loved  a  girl  sev 
eral  years  ago,  while  I  was  running  a  paper  over  at 
Beech  Knob.  Yes,  sir,  and  I  reckon  I  loved  her 
as  hard  as  a  woman  was  ever  loved.  I  thought 
about  her  every  day.  And  I  believe  she  cared  for 
me." 

"It's  of  no  use  to  ask  you  why  you  didn't  marry 
her.  Money,  I  suppose." 

"That's  it,  Lyman;  money.  You  see,  her  old 
man  was  rather  well  fixed,  and  one  day  when  he 
was  in  the  office  I  borrowed  ten  dollars  of  him. 
Then  I  couldn't  go  to  the  house,  you  see,  and  be- 


OLD  EBENEZER  117 

fore  I  could  pay  it  back  the  girl  was  married.  Lost 
one  of  the  best  girls  this  country  ever  produced 
just  because  I  couldn't  raise  ten  dollars  to  pay  her 
father.  I  guess  Brother  McElwin  wishes  now  that 
he  had  let  you  have  the  hundred.  It  would  have 
given  him  a  hold  on  you." 

"It  would  have  given  him  a  club,"  said  Lyman. 
"A  man  could  snatch  out  a  hundred  dollar  debt  and 
run  me  off  the  bluff.  'Lover's  Leap,'  "  he  added  to 
himself,  smiling.  Warren  looked  up  and  saw  the 
smile,  but  he  had  not  caught  the  words. 

"It's  too  serious  a  matter  to  grin  over,"  he  re 
marked,  sadly,  but  with  a  bright  eye  turned  toward 
the  cigars  that  lay  upon  the  pile  of  newspapers. 
"It's  a  curse  to  be  poor,"  he  said,  with  solemnity, 
though  his  eye  was  delighted. 

"A  crime,"  Lyman  replied.  "It  gives  no  oppor 
tunity  to  be  generous,  sneers  at  truth  and  calls  vir 
tue  a  foolish  little  thing.  It  is  the  philosopher, 
with  money  out  at  interest,  that  smiles  upon  the 
contentment  and  blessedness  of  the  poor  man." 

"Helloa,  you  are  more  of  a  grumbler  than  I  ever 
saw  you  before." 

Lyman  leaned  back  with  his  arms  spread  out,  and 


118  OLD  EBENEZER 

laughed.  "It  would  seem  that  the  rich  man's  coach 
wheel  has  raked  off  a  part  of  my  hide,  but  it  hasn't, 
my  boy."  He  got  up  and  walked  about  the  room; 
he  went  to  the  window.  Damp  air  was  stirring  and 
an  old  map  was  flapping  slowly  against  the  dingy 
wall.  He  gazed  over  the  housetops  in  the  direc 
tion  of  the  grove  where  the  paper  lanterns  had 
hung,  but  all  was  dark  and  rain  was  fast  falling. 

"It's  raining,"  he  said.  "I'm  glad  it  held  up  until 
after  the  picnic." 

"Yes,"  Warren  replied,  "for  we  might  have  been 
cheated  out  of  the  cigars  and  the  five  dollars." 

"And  I  might  have  been  robbed  of  a  pleasant 
few  moments." 

"You  are  gone,"  said  Warren,  yawning. 

"No,  not  yet,  but  I  am  going."  He  reached  for 
his  hat. 

"In  the  rain?"  Warren  asked.  "I'm  going  to 
smoke  another  cigar  before  I  turn  in.  Stay  here 
tonight;  you  can  have  my  cot.  I'd  as  soon  sleep  on 
the  floor." 

"No,  I  won't  rob  you." 

"Rob  me?  Your  work  tonight  would  make  a 
stone  slab  a  soft  place  for  me  to  rest.* 


OLD  EBENEZER  119 

"And  my  mind  might  turn  a  bed,  formed  of  the 
breast  feathers  of  a  goose,  into  a  stone  slab.  Good 
night." 

The  hour  was  late,  but  a  light  was  burning  in 
old  Jasper's  house.  As  Lyman  stepped  upon  the 
veranda  Henry  Bostic  came  out  of  the  sitting 
room. 

"Ah,  Mr.  Lyman,  but  you  are  dripping  wet." 

"I  hadn't  noticed  it,  but  it  is  raining  rather  hard. 
You  are  not  going  out  in  it,  are  you?" 

"I  have  but  a  short  distance  to  go.  I  found  Miss 
Annie  so  entertaining  that  I  didn't  know  it  was  so 
late.  I  came  to  invite  her  to  hear  me  preach  the 
third  Sunday  of  next  month,  at  Mt.  Zion,  on  the 
Fox  Grove  road,  five  miles  from  town.  I  should 
like  you  to  be  present." 

"Yes,  as  I  was  present  at  your  first — " 

"Don't  mention  that,  Mr.  Lyman,  he  said,  hoist 
ing  his  umbrella.  "That  was  not  wholly  free  from 
a  spirit  of  revenge,  and  I  have  prayed  for  pardon. 
My  mother  has  called  on  the  McElwins  to  beseech 
them  to  forgive  me,  and  I  went  to  the  bank  today 
on  the  same  errand." 

"Wait  a  moment,"  said  Lyman,  as  the  young 


120  OLD  EBENEZER 

minister  moved  toward  the  steps  leading  to  the 
dooryard.  "Did  the  banker  forgive  you?" 

The  young  man  stood  with  his  umbrella  under 
the  edge  of  the  roof,  and  the  rain  rumbled  upon  it. 
"No,  sir.  He  said  I  had  done  his  family  a  vital  in 
jury.  I  told  him  I  might  have  been  an  instrument 
in  the  hands  of  a  higher  power,  and  he  sneered  at 
me.  I  hope  you  forgive  me,  Mr.  Lyman." 

"To  be  frank,  I  am  secretly  glad  that  it  hap 
pened,"  Lyman  replied. 

"But  not  maliciously  or  even  mischievously  glad, 
I  hope,"  said  the  preacher. 

"No,  I  am  glad  for  other  reasons,  but  I  cannot 
explain  them." 

The  rain  rumbled  upon  the  umbrella  and  the 
preacher  was  silent  for  a  moment.  "Mr.  McElwin 
said  that  if  I  could  induce  you  to  sign  the  petition 
he  would  forgive  me.  And  I  told  him  I  would. 
Will  you  sign  it?" 

"I  cannot,  Mr.  Bostic." 

"May  I  ask  why?" 

"Because  I  stand  as  the  young  woman's  protec 
tor.  She  despises  Sawyer,  and  her  father  was  de 
termined  that  she  should  be  his  wife." 


OLD  EBENEZER  121 

"Did  she  tell  you,  sir?" 

"Yes,  and  I  have  promised;  but  this  is  confiden 
tial." 

"Then,  sir,  the  petition  must  not  be  signed.  The 
ceremony,  after  all,  was  a  blessing,  and  I  shall 
not  again  crave  the  banker's  forgiveness.  Good 
night." 


CHAPTER  XIII. 
IN  A  MAGAZINE, 

There  came  a  day,  and  it  followed  the  picnic, 
with  not  a  week  between,  when  Lyman's  midnight 
scratching,  done  at  the  house  of  old  Uncle  Buckley, 
came  out  into  the  dazzling  light.  A  story  written 
by  him  appeared  in  one  of  the  leading  magazines  of 
the  East.  It  was  a  simple  recital,  a  picture  of  the 
country  and  its  people,  and  so  close  down  upon 
the  earth  did  it  lie  that  a  patter  of  rain  that  fell 
somewhere  among  the  words  brought  a  sweet  scent 
from  the  blackberry  briars,  and  a  smell  of  dust  from 
the  rain.  There  were  intelligent  reading  persons, 
in  Old  Ebenezer,  and  with  the  big  eye  of  astonish 
ment  they  viewed  the  story,  but  they  were  afraid  to 
form  an  opinion  until  the  critic  of  the  "State  Gazette," 
following  a  bold  lead  struck  by  an  eastern  reviewer, 
declared  it  to  be  a  piece  of  masterly  work.  And 
then  the  town  of  Old  Ebenezer  was  glad  to  assert 
its  admiration.  The  leading  hardware  man  said 
that  he  had  noticed  from  the  first  that  there  was 
something  strange  about  the  fellow. 


OLD  EBENEZER  123 

"And,"  said  he,  "y°u  can  never  tell  what  a 
strange  sort  of  a  fellow  may  pop  up  and  do.  Now, 
there  was  old  Kincade's  son  Phil.  Everybody 
knew  he  was  curious;  everybody  could  see  that, 
but  they  didn't  know  how  to  place  him.  I  told  them 
not  to  place  him.  I  told  them  there  was  no  telling 
where  he  might  break  out.  His  daddy  said  he  was 
a  fool.  I  said  'wait.'  Well,  they  waited,  and  what 
came?  The  boy  discovered  a  process  for  tanning 
coon  hides  without  bark,  and  now  look  at  him. 
Worth  ten  thousand  dollars  if  he's  worth  a  cent." 

A  saddler  gave  his  opinion:  "I  knew  he  had  it 
in  him.  I  haven't  read  his  article,  but  I'll  bet  it's 
good.  Why,  he's  said  things  in  my  shop  that  it 
would  be  worth  anybody's  while  to  remember. 
Just  stepped  in  and  said  them  and  went  out  like  it 
wasn't  no  trouble  at  all.  And  look  what  he's  done 
for  the  paper  here!  Every  time  he  touches  her  he 
makes  her  flinch  like  a  hoss-fly  lightin'  on  a  hoss. 
And  when  everybody  was  making  such  a  mouth 
about  that  fool  marriage,  I — well,  I  just  kept  my 
rnouth  shut  and  didn't  say  a  word." 

Warren  was  the  proudest  man  in  town.     He  was 
so  elated  and  so  busy  talking  about  the  story  that 


124  OLD  EBENEZER 

he  never  found  lime  to  read  it,  except  to  dip  into  it 
here  and  there,  to  find  something  to  start  him  off  on 
a  gallop  of  praise. 

"Why  didn't  you  tell  me,  so  that  I  might  have 
known  what  to  expect?  Why  did  you  nurse  it  so 
long?"  Warren  asked,  as  he  and  Lyman  sat  in  the 
office. 

"Oh,  I  hadn't  anything  to  tell,  except  of  a  prob 
able  prospect.  And  nothing  is  more  tiresome  than 
to  listen  to  a  man's  hopes." 

"But  you  must  have  known  that  the  story  would 
be  a  success." 

"No,  I  didn't." 

"Well,  maybe  not.  It  was  fortunate  to  drive 
center  the  first  shot." 

Lyman  laughed  sadly.  "Warren,"  said  he,  nod 
ding  toward  the  magazine,  which  lay  upon  the  table, 
"I  began  to  scatter  seeds  so  long  ago  that  I  hardly 
know  when;  and  one  has  sprouted.  I  have 
been  writing  stories  for  the  magazines  ever  since 
I  was  a  boy,  and  they  were  returned  with  a  printed 
'thank  you  for — '  and  so  forth.  I  had  thought,  as 
many  young  writers  think,  that  I  must  be  deep  and 
learned.  I  didn't  know  that  one  half-hidden  mood 


OLD  EBENEZER  125 

of  nature,  one  odd  trait  of  man,  one  little  reminder 
to  the  reader  of  something  that  had  often  flitted 
across  his  mind,  was  of  more  value  than  the  es 
sence  of  a  thousand  books.  I  strove  to  climb  a  hill 
where  so  many  are  constantly  falling  and  rolling  to 
the  bottom.  At  last  I  opened  my  eyes  and  shut 
my  memory,  and  then  I  began  to  progress.  But 
not  without  the  most  diligent  work.  This  story, 
(again  nodding  toward  the  magazine)  was  written 
six  times  at  least." 

"Why,  you  have  made  it  look  as  easy  as  falling 
off  a  log,"  said  Warren. 

"Yes;  it  was  work  that  made  it  look  easy. 
There  are  two  sorts  of  successful  stories;  one  that 
makes  the  reader  marvel  at  its  art;  the  other  one 
that  makes  the  reader  believe  that  almost  anybody 
could  have  written  it.  The  first  appeals  to  the 
stylist  and  may  soon  die.  The  other  may  live  to 
be  a  classic." 

"Go  ahead.     That  sort  of  talk  catches  me.     It  I 
seems  now  that  I  have  thought  it  many  times,  but 
just  didn't  happen  to  say  it.     Have  you  got  any 
thing  in  hand  now?" 

"Yes ;  1  might  as  well  let  it  all  out  now.    I  have  a 


126  OLD  EBENEZER 

book  accepted  by  a  first-class  house,  and  I  have  a 
long  story  which  I  may  submit  to  a  magazine  to  be 
published  as  a  serial  in  the  event  of  the  success  of 
the  book." 

"You  are  all  right.  I  have  often  told  you  that. 
Why,  some  of  the  things  you  have  written  for  this 
paper  would  do  to  go  into  the  school  readers  along 
with  the  dialogue  between  some  fellow — forget  his 
name  now — and  Humphrey  Dobbins;  and  that  bar 
ber  who  lived  in  the  City  of  Bath.  Recollect? 
Let's  see,  'Respect  for  the  Sabbath  Rewarded/ 
Don't  you  know  now?  'And  say/  the  stranger  says 
to  him,  'I  have  glorious  news  for  you.  Your  uncle 
is  dead/  and  so  on.  But  it  used  to  tickle  me  to 
think  the  fellow  could  find  any  glory  in  the  news  of 
his  uncle's  death,  but  I  guess  he  did." 

"Yes,  I  remember.  He  was  the  barber  that 
wouldn't  shave  on  Sunday.  And  as  a  reward  his 
uncle  died  and  left  him  a  lot  of  money.  And  you'd 
hit  it  off  pretty  well  now  by  marking  out  virtue  in 
'Virtue  Is  Its  Own  Reward/  and  substituting 
'money/  " 

"But  I  don't  think  we've  got  very  much  cause  to 
complain,"  said  Warren.  "We  gathered  in  five 


OLD   EBENEZER  127 

subscribers  yesterday,  and  three  today,  besides  an 
electric  belt  ad,  to  run  for  six  months.  Oh,  we're 
all  right,  and  the  first  thing  you  know,  we'll  have 
some  new  clothes.  We  don't  want  any  hand-me- 
downs.  About  two  weeks  ago  I  went  into  the  tail 
or's  shop  across  the  square,  and  picked  out  a  piece 
of  cloth.  But  when  I  passed  there  yesterday  I  no 
ticed  that  some  scoundrel  had  bought  it.  Why, 
helloa;  come  in." 

Uncle  Buckley  Lightfoot  stood  in  the  door.  His 
approach  had  been  so  soft  that  they  did  not  hear 
him.  His  tread  was  always  noiseless  when  he 
walked  in  strange  places.  He  appeared  to  be  afraid 
of  breaking  something. 

"Come  in!"  Lyman  shouted,  springing  to  meet 
him. 

"Howdy  do ;  howdy  do."  He  seized  Lyman  and 
then  shook  hands  with  Warren.  "I  jest  thought 
I'd  look  in  and  see  how  Sammy  was  gettin*  along. 
And  I  promised  mother  that  if  he  was  busy  I'd  jest 
peep  in  and  then  slip  away.  Sammy,  you  look  as 
peart  as  a  red  bird." 

"Sit  down,  Uncle  Buckley/'  said  Lyman.  "Let 
me  take  off  your  leggings." 


OLD   EBENEZER 

"Jest  let  them  alone  where  they  are,  Sammy," 
the  old  man  replied.  "I  haven't  got  long  to  stay, 
for  I  don't  want  to  keep  you  from  your  work.  Jest 
put  those  saddle-bags  over  there  on  the  table.  No, 
wait  a  minute.  I've  got  something  in  'em  for  you. 
Look  here,"  he  added,  taking  out  a  package; 
"mother  sent  you  some  pickles." 

"Oh,  I'm  a  thousand  times  obliged  to  her,"  said 
Lyman,  putting  the  package  and  the  saddle-bags  on 
the  table.  "Tell  her  so,  please." 

"I'll  do  that.  Lawd  bless  you,  Sammy;  I  do 
reckon  she  knows  what  a  man  needs.  And  she 
says  to  me,  Tap,  you  shan't  go  one  step  toward 
that  fetch-taked  town  unless  you  agree  to  take 
Sammy  some  pickles  made  outen  the  finest  cucum 
bers  that  ever  growd.'  And  I  jest  said,  'You  do 
up  your  pickles  and  don't  you  be  askeered  of  me.' 
And  she  begins  then  to  fix  'em  up,  a-talkin'  all  the 
time  fitten  to  kill  herself.  The  idea  of  a  man  bein' 
shet  up  there  in  that  musty  place,  without  any 
pickles/  she  says;  'it's  enough  to  kill  him,  the  Lord 
knows/  And  I  wanted  to  sorter  relieve  her  dis 
tress,  and  I  'lowed  that  mebby  there  was  pickles  in 
town;  and  she  turned  about,  lookin'  like  she  wanted 


OLD  EBENEZER  129 

to  fling  somethin'  at  me.  Tap,'  she  says,  and  I 
begin  to  dodge  back,  'for  as  smart  a  man  as  you 
are,  I  d$  think  you  can  say  the  foolishest  things  of 
anybody  I  ever  seen.  Pickles  fitten  to  eat  in  a 
town  where  if  a  person  ain't  dressed  up  he  can't  get 
into  the  churches  on  the  Lord's  day;  and  where,  if 
they  do  get  in,  the  minister  won't  even  so  much  as 
cast  his  eye  on  'em  while  he's  a  preachin'  of  his  ser 
mon!  Pickles  indeed,'  she  says,  and  I  kep'  on  a 
dodgin'.  How  are  you  gettin'  along,  Sammy?" 

"First  rate." 

"But  what's  this  joke  they've  got  on  you  about 
bein'  married?" 

"That's  what  it  is,  Uncle  Buckley,  a  joke." 

"I  told  Jimmy  and  Lige  that  it  was  only  a  prank. 
I  knowed  you  weren't  goin'  to  throw  yourself  away 
on  no  one  here,  when  the  woods  are  full  of  'em  out 
our  way  that  would  like  to  have  you.  Don't  dodge, 
Sammy.  Stand  right  up  to  your  fodder,  for  you 
know  it's  a  fact.  It  made  mother  powerful  mad. 
She  took  it  that  you  wanted  the  gal,  and  the  old 
man  thought  you  wa'n't  good  enough.  And  she 
boiled.  'Why,  he  can  start  a  church  tune  better 
than  any  person  we  ever  had  in  the  neighborhood/ 


130  OLD  EBENEZER 

she  'lowed.  'Not  good  enough,  indeed!'  And  I 
dodged  on  off,  sorter  laughin'  as  I  ducked  behind 
the  hen-house.  And  that  reminds  me,  Sammy,  that 
a  varmint  come  the  other  night  and  toated  off  the 
likeliest  rooster  I  had  on  the  place.  Mother  woke 
me  at  night,  and  asked  if  that  wa'n't  a  chicken 
squallin.'  I  told  her  that  I  had  the  plan  of  a  new 
barn  in  my  head,  and  that  I  couldn't  let  the  squal 
lin'  of  no  sich  thing  as  a  chicken  drive  it  out,  and  I 
went  to  sleep.  But  you  ought  to  have  seen  the  look 
she  gave  me  the  next  mornin'  when  we  found  feath 
ers  scattered  all  over  the  yard.  By  the  way,  Sammy, 
where  is  the  other  man;  the  great  lawyer  that  was 
your  partner?  Is  he  out  at  present?" 

"Yes,  Uncle  Buckley,  he's  out  at  present,  and  for 
good.  We  have  dissolved  partnership." 

"No!"  said  the  old  man,  dropping  his  jaw. 
"Why,  I  thought  you  and  him  was  together  for 
keeps.  And  you  don't  really  mean  to  tell  me  that 
you  ain't,  Sammy?" 

"He  has  an  office  on  the  other  side  of  the  square, 
and  I'm  not  in  the  law  business,"  Lyman  replied. 
"Warren  and  I  are  running  this  paper." 

"When  did  you  quit  each  other?"  the  old  man 


OLD  EBENEZER  131 

asked,  leaning  forward  and  picking  at  his  blanket 
leggings. 

"Why,  the  day  you  were  in  here.  You  remem 
ber  I  left  you  here  with  him.  When  I  came  back 
he  had  decided  to  set  aside  the  partnership." 

The  old  man  looked  up  at  the  ceiling.  "I  reckon 
it's  all  right,  but  I  don't  exactly  get  the  hang  of  it," 
he  said,  getting  up  and  taking  his  hat  off  the  table. 

"Understand  what,  Uncle  Buckley?"  Lyman 
asked. 

"Oh,  nothin'.  It's  all  right,  I  reckon.  Young 
feller,  jest  keep  on  a  shootin'  your  paper  at  me.  We 
find  some  mighty  interestin'  readin'  in  it;  and  some 
times  Lige  he  breaks  out  in  a  loud  laugh  over  a 
piece,  and  he  'lows,  'if  that  ain't  old  Sammy,  up  and 
up,  I  don't  want  a  cent.'  Well,  boys,  I've  some 
knockin*  around  to  do  and  I'll  have  to  bid  you  good 
day." 


CHAPTER  XIV. 
NOTHING  REMARKABLE  IN  IT. 

Mr.  McElwin  put  aside  his  newspaper  and  paced 
slowly  up  and  down  the  room,  his  slippered  feet 
falling  with  an  emphatic  pat  on  the  carpet.  His 
wife  sat  near  the  window,  watching  the  swallows 
cutting  black  circles  in  the  dusky  air.  Eva  was 
seated  at  the  piano,  half  turned  from  it,  while  with 
one  hand  she  felt  about  to  touch  the  nerve  of  some 
half-forgotten  tune.  McElwin  dropped  down  in 
an  arm  chair. 

"I  wonder  if  this  newspaper  will  ever  stop  talk 
ing  about  that  fellow's  story,"  said  he.  "I  read  it 
over  and  I  didn't  see  anything  remarkable  in  it.  Of 
course  it's  all  right  to  feel  a  local  pride  in  a  thing, 
but  gracious  alive,  we  don't  want  to  go  into  fits 
over  it.  Now,  here's  nearly  half  a  column  about  it." 

"Let  me  see  it,"  said  Eva.  He  picked  up  the  pa 
per  and  held  it  out  to  her.  She  got  off  the  piano 
stool,  took  the  paper  and  stood  near  her  father, 
under  the  hanging  lamp. 

(132) 


OLD  EBENEZER  133 

"Can't  you  find  it?     On  the  editorial  page." 
"Yes,  I  have  found  it.     But  it  is  not  written  by 
the  pen  of  local  pride." 
"It  is  in  the  state  paper." 

"Yes,  but  if  you  had  read  to  the  bottom  you 
would  have  seen  that  it  was  from  a  New  York 
paper." 

"Ah,  well,  it  doesn't  interest  me,  no  matter  what 
paper  it  is  from." 

"What  is  it?"  Mrs.  McElwin  asked,  turning  from 
the  window. 

"Something  more  about  Mr,  Lyman's  story,"  the 
daughter  answered. 

"It  appears  to  have  stirred  up  quite  a  sensation/'' 
said  Mrs.  McElwin.  "One  of  those  happy  acci 
dents." 

"It  was  not  an  accident,"  the  girl  replied.  "It 
was  genius." 

"Come,  don't  be  absurd,"  said  her  father.  "There 
is  such  a  thing  as  a  man  finding  a  gold  watch  in  the 
road.  I  call  it  an  accident.  I  had  quite  a  talk  with 
him  in  my  private  office  before  our  relations  became 
strained,  and  I  found  him  to  be  rather  below  the 
average.  He  surely  has  but  a  vague  and  confused 


OLD  EBENEZER 

idea  regarding  even  the  simplest  forms  of  business. 
But  I  admit  that  his  story  is  all  well  enough,  and  so 
are  many  little  pieces  of  fancy  work,  but  they  don't 
amount  to  anything.  Educated  man?  Yes,  that's 
all  right,  too,  but  the  highways  are  full  of  educated 
men,  looking  for  something  to  do.  Sawyer  is 
worth  a  dozen  of  him." 

Mrs.  McElwin  glanced  at  her  daughter,  as  if  she 
had  heard  a  footstep  on  dangerous  ground.  She 
was  not  far  wrong. 

"Sawyer  is  a  man,  ready — " 

"He  has  not  shown  it,"  the  girl  was  bold  enough 
to  declare.  She  stood  under  the  lamp  and  the 
newspaper  rattled  as  she  held  it  now  grasped 
tightly. 

"Eva,"  said  her  mother,  in  gentle  reproof,  "don't 
say  that." 

"But  I  want  her  to  say  it  if  she  thinks  it,"  the 
banker  spoke  up,  almost  angrily.  "I  want  her  to 
say  it  and  prove  it." 

"He  proved  it  to  me,  but  I  may  not  be  able  to 
prove  it  to  you.  Mr.  Lyman  called  him  a  coward 
and  he  did  not  resent  it." 

"Lyman  did?    How  do  you  know?" 


OLD  EBENEZER  135 

* 

"I  heard  him.'* 

The  banker  blinked  at  her.  "You  heard  him? 
When?  And  how  came  you  to  be  near  him?" 

"It  was  on  the  Sunday  after  the  mar — the  fool 
ish  ceremony.  As  Mr.  Sawyer  walked  off  with  me 
from  the  church  door  Mr.  Lyman  joined  us." 

"Joined  you!  The  impudent  scoundrel!  What 
right  had  he  to  join  you,  and  why  did  you  per 
mit  it?" 

"He  took  the  right  and  we  couldn't  help  our 
selves.  At  least  I  couldn't  and  Mr.  Sawyer  didn't 
try  to." 

"I  wish  I  had  been  there." 

"You  were  just  in  front,  but  you  didn't  look 
around." 

"Well,  and  then  what  happened?" 

"Why,  during  the  talk  that  followed,  Mr.  Lyman 
called  him  a  coward." 

"Mr.  Sawyer  is  a  gentleman  and  he  couldn't  re 
sent  it  at  the  time  in  the  presence  of  a  lady." 

"He  has  had  time  enough  since,"  she  said  with 
scorn. 

Mrs.  McElwin  came  from  the  window  and  sat 
down  near  her  husband.  The  banker  looked  hard 


136  OLD  EBENEZER 

at  his  daughter,  and  a  sudden  tangling  of  the  lines 
on  his  face  showed  that  the  first  words  that  flew  to 
the  verge  of  utterance  had  been  suppressed,  and 
that  he  was  determined  to  be  calm. 

"He  has  had  time,  but  he  has  also  had  considera 
tion/5  said  McElwin.  "To  resent  an  insult  is  some 
times  more  of  a  scandal  than  to  let  it  pass.  He 
hesitated  to  involve  your  name." 

He  was  now  so  quiet,  so  plausible  in  his  gentle 
ness  that  the  young  woman  felt  ashamed  of  the 
quick  spirit  she  had  shown. 

"Sit  down,"  he  said,  and  she  obeyed,  with  her 
hands  lying  listlessly  together  in  her  lap. 

"Your  mother  and  I  know  what  is  best  for  you," 
he  said.  A  slight  shudder  seemed  to  pass  through 
the  wife's  dignified  shoulders.  "You  have  always 
been  the  object  of  our  most  tender  solicitude,"  he 
went  on.  "And  if  I  have  been  determined,  it  has 
been  for  your  own  ultimate  good.  I  admit  that 
there  is  not  much  romance  about  Mr.  Sawyer.  He 
is  a  keen,  open-eyed,  practical  business  man,  with 
money  out  at  interest,  and  with  money  lying  in  my 
bank.  His  family  is  excellent.  His  father  was, 
for  many  years,  the  Clerk  of  the  Court  of  Appeals, 


OLD  EBENEZER  137 

and  his  grandfather  was  a  judge.  And  I  believe  as 
firmly  as  I  ever  believed  anything,  that  he  will  be  a 
very  rich  man.  He  is  constantly  widening  out  and 
will  not  confine  himself  to  the  buying  and  selling  of 
mules.  His  judgment  of  the  markets  is  fine,  and  I 
repeat  that  he  will  be  a  very  rich  man.  In  looking 
over  the  field  I  don't  know  another  man  I  would 
rather  have  associated  with  me." 

His  wife,  long  since  convinced  by  his  practical 
logic,  looked  up  with  a  quiet  smile  of  approval. 
The  girl  sat  weaving  her  fingers  together.  She 
met  her  father's  questioning  eye  and  did  not  waver. 

"I  don't  presume  to  question  what  you  say,"  she 
/•aid.  "But  I  am  no  longer  a  spoiled  child  to  be 
petted  and  persuaded.  I  am  a  woman  and  have  be 
gun  to  think.  This  marriage,  though  brought 
about  in  so  ridiculous  a  way,  has  had  a  wonderful 
eft'ect  upon  me.  I  have  heard  that  marriage 
merges  a  woman's  identity  with  that  of  her  hus 
band,  but  this  marriage  has  made  an  individual  of 
me.  It  has  freed  me  from  frivolous  company;  it 
has  given  me  something  that  I  once  thought  I  could 
not  endure — solitude — and  I  have  found  it  delight 
ful.  The  hard  and  stubborn  things  that  were  beat 


138  OLD  EBENEZER 

into  my  head  at  school,  and  which  I  despised  at  the 
time,  are  useful  pieces  of  knowledge  now,  and, 
viewing  them,  I  wonder  that  I  could  ever  have  been 
so  silly  as  to  find  my  greatest  pleasure  in  flattery." 
Never  before  had  she  spoken  at  such  length,  nor 
with  an  air  so  serious.  Her  mother  looked  at  her 
with  a  half  wondering  admiration,  and  the  banker's 
countenance  showed  a  new-born  pride  in  her — in 
himself,  indeed — for  nothing  in  his  household  was 
important  unless  it  showed  a  light  reflected  from 
him;  and  now,  in  his  daughter,  he  discovered  a  part 
of  himself,  a  disposition  to  think.  This  thought 
was  seditious,  and  there  is  virtue  in  even  a  rebel 
lious  strength,  and  it  convinced  him  that  hence 
forth  he  must  address  her  reason  rather  than  a  fem 
inine  whim.  He  was  proud  of  her,  admitted  it  to 
himself  and  conveyed  it  in  a  look  which  he  gave 
his  wife; but  he  was  not  the  less  determined  to  carry 
his  point.  Sawyer  was  a  man  of  affairs.  His  judg 
ment  was  sure,  his  spirit  adventurous.  Figures 
were  his  playthings,  and  who  could  say  that  he  was 
not  to  become  one  of  the  country's  great  financiers? 
Once  he  had  made  a  bid  against  many  competitors 
acquainted  with  the  work,  to  build  a  bridge  for  the 
county.  Sawyer's  bid  was  the  lowest.  His  friends 


OLD  EBENEZER  139 

said  that  the  undertaking  would  ruin  him;  McEl- 
win  deplored  the  young  man's  rashness.  But  he 
built  the  bridge,  made  money  on  the  speculation; 
and  the  first  traffic  across  the  new  structure  was  a 
drove  of  Sawyer's  mules,  en  route  to  a  profitable 
market. 

"I  am  glad  you  have  begun  to  think/'  he  said, 
smiling  at  her.  "I  knew  the  time  would  come,  and, 
as  it  has  come,  let  me  ask  you  a  question.  Did 
you  request  this  Mr.  Lyman  to  sign  the  petition?" 

"I  mentioned  it  to  him." 

"You  did.  That  ought  to  have  been  sufficient. 
What  did  he  say?" 

"He  said  that  he  would — under  certain  condi 
tions."  McElwin  winced  in  memory  of  his  and 
Sawyer's  visit  to  Lyman. 

"Conditions?  How  does  he  dare  enforce  condi 
tions?  What  were  they?" 

"That  I  must  avow  my  love  for  Zeb — Mr.  Saw- 
yen" 

"Well,  is  that  all?" 

"All!    Isn't  it  enough?"  ' 

"You  can  do  that,  my  daughter,"  Mrs.  McElwin 
said  meekly. 


140  OLD  EBENEZER 

"Yes,  I  could,  if  the  time  should  ever  come." 

"What  time?"  the  banker  asked. 

"The  time  when  I  can  say  that  I  love  him." 

McElwin  crossed  his  legs  with  a  sudden  flounce. 
"You  put  too  serious  an  estimate  upon  love,"  he 
said.  "You  expect  it  to  be  the  grand,  over-master 
ing  passion  we  read  about.  That  was  all  well 
enough  for  the  age  of  poetry,  but  this  is  the  age  of 
prose.  You  can  go  to  that  man  and  tell  him 
that—" 

"That  I  have  a  Nineteenth  century  love  for  Mr. 
Sawyer,"  she  interrupted. 

"Well,  yes." 

"And  he  would  laugh  at  me." 

"Laugh  at  you,"  he  frowned.  "No  gentleman 
can  laugh  at  a  lady's  distress." 

"But  he  might  not  regard  it  as  distress.  It 
might  seem  ridiculous  t6  him." 

"Hump,"  he  grunted.  "Well,  it's  undignified,  it 
is  almost  outrageous  to  be  forced  to  do  such  a 
thing,  but  you  must  go  to  him.  Your  mother  will 
go  with  you." 

"No,  James,"  his  wife  gently  protested,  looking 
at  him  in  mild  appeal.  "I  don't  really  think  I  can 


OLD  EBENEZER  141 

muster  the  courage  for  so  awkward  an  undertaking. 
Please  leave  me  out." 

"Leave  you  out  of  so  important  an  arrangement, 
an  arrangement  that  involves  the  future  of  your 
daughter!" 

'Then,  why  should  not  all  three  of  us  go?"  she 
asked. 

"I  have  trampled  my  own  pride  under  my  feet 
by  going  once,"  he  replied.  "Yes,  and  he  treated 
me  with  cool  impudence.  And  if  I  should  go 
again  something  might  happen.  That  man  has 
humiliated  me  more  than  any  man  I  ever  met,  and 
once  is  enough ;  I  couldn't  bear  an  insult  in  the  pres 
ence  of  my  wife  and  daughter.  Eva,  do  you  know 
what  that  man  tried  to  do?  He  gained  admission 
to  my  private  office,  and  actually  strove  to  bunco 
me  out  of  a  hundred  dollars." 

"He  may  have  tried  to  borrow  it,  father,  but  I 
don't  think  he  tried  to  get  it  dishonestly." 

"Didn't  I  tell  you  that  he  tried  to  beat  me  out 
of  the  money?  Why  do  you  set  up  a  mere  opinion 
against  my  experience?  And  why  are  you  so  much 
inclined  to  take  his  part?  Tell  me- that.  You  can't 
be  interested  in  him?" 


142  OLD  EBENEZER 

"I  don't  want  injustice  done  him." 
"Oh,  no;  but  you  would  submit  to  the  injustice 
he  does  you.  He  has  robbed  you  of  the  society  of 
your  younger  acquaintances — he  compels  you  to 
sit  almost  excluded  in  a  town  where  you  are  an 
acknowledged  belle.  Young  gentlemen  are  afraid 
to  call  on  you." 

"Well,  I  don't  know  that  it  would  be  exactly 
proper,"  she  replied. 

"And,"  he  went  on,  lifting  his  voice,  "the  strang 
est  part  of  it  is  that  you  quietly  submit  to  this  treat 
ment  when  there  is  a  way  to  free  yourself.  And  I 
request  you  to  make  use  of  it." 

He  got  up,  went  to  the  mantle-piece,  took  up  a 
sea-shell,  put  it  down,  turned  his  back  to  the  fire 
place,  stood  there  a  moment  and  strode  out. 

"You  must  do  as  he  commands,"  said  the 
mother. 

"I  can't." 

"Don't  say  that.  You  must.  I  have  thought  it 
over,  and  I  know  it's  for  the  best." 

"You  have  permitted  him  to  think  it  over,  and 
you  hope  it  is  for  the  best,"  the  daughter  replied. 


CHAPTER  XV. 
MUST  LEAVE  THE  TOWN. 


At  eleven  o'clock  the  next  day,  Zeb  Sawyer  was 
to  meet  McElwin  at  the  bank.  The  hour  was 
tolled  off  by  a  grim  old  clock  standing  high  in  a 
corner,  a  rare  old  time  piece  with  a  history,  or  at 
least  a  past,  of  interest  to  McElwin,  for  it  had  been 
bought  at  the  forced  sale  of  fixtures  belonging  to  a 
defunct  bank.  It  struck  with  solemn  self-import 
ance,  as  if  proclaiming  the  hour  to  foreclose  a  mort 
gage  ;  and  though  not  given  to  this  sort  of  reflective 
speculation,  McElwin  must  have  been  vaguely  in 
fluenced  by  its  knell-like  stroke,  for  he  nearly  al 
ways  glanced  up  as  if  a  tribute  were  due  to  its 
promptness.  A  few  minutes  later  Zeb  Sawyer  was 
shown  into  the  room.  The  banker  had  been  sit 
ting  in  deep  thought,  with  his  legs  stretched  forth, 
and  with  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  but  he  turned 
about  when  the  clock  struck,  and  as  Sawyer  en 
tered  the  office  he  was  busy  with  papers  on  a  table 
in  front  of  him. 

(U3) 


144  OLD  EBENEZER 

"Good  morning,  Zeb;  sit  down." 

"Hard  at  it,  I  see,"  said  the  young  man,  taking  a 
seat  at  the  opposite  side  of  the  table. 

"Yes,  day  and  night.  No  rest  for  the  wicked, 
you  know/' 

"I  don't  know  as  to  that,"  Sawyer  replied,  "but 
I  do  know  that  there  is  mighty  little  rest  for  the 
man  that  wants  to  do  anything  in  the  world." 

"You  are  right.  The  gospel  of  content  builds 
poor  houses.  I  never  knew  a  happy  man  who 
wasn't  lazy." 

"You  ought  to  go  to  Congress,  McElwin;  they 
need  such  talk  there." 

"They  need  a  good  many  qualities  that  they  are 
not  likely  to  get."  He  put  his  papers  aside,  and 
leaning  with  his  arms  on  the  table  looked 
into  the  eyes  of  his  visitor.  "My  daughter  has  de 
veloped  into  a  thinking  woman,  Zeb." 

The  over-confident  young  money-maker's  face 
brightened,  as  if  the  banker  had  given  him  a  piece 
of  encouraging  news. 

"Yes,  sir,"  McElwin  went  on,  "and  no  cause  is 
lost  so  long  as  thinking  is  going  on.  Why,  sir,  it 
took  my  wife  years  and  years  to  learn  how  to  think. 


OLD  EBENEZER  145 

It  was  not  expected  that  a  young  woman  in  this 
part  of  the  country  should  think.  Men  were  the 
necessities  and  women  the  adornments  of  society, 
when  I  was  a  young  fellow." 

"But  you  said  your  daughter  had  become  a 
thinking  woman,"  Sawyer  hastened  to  remark,  to 
bring  him  back  from  his  wanderings. 

"Yes.  And  it  will  require  all  my  strength  and 
influence  as  a  father,  to  get  her  to  think  as  I  want 
her  to.  Still,  in  our  dealings  with  a  woman  there 
is  always  hope — if  she  thinks.  I  had  quite  a  talk 
with  her  last  night,  but  I  did  not  convince  her  that 
she  ought  to  go  to  that  fellow  and  ask  him  to  sign 
— sign  that  infamous  petition."  McElwin  took  his 
arms  off  the  table  and  leaned  back  in  his  chair. 
"And,  sir,  I  don't  believe  she'll  do  it." 

"It  can't  be  that  she  can  care  anything  for  him," 
said  Sawyer. 

"Nonsense,"  the  banker  replied.  "Such  a  thing 
has  never  entered  her  head.  I  think  she  enjoys 
the  oddity  of  her  position,  married  and  yet  not  mar 
ried.  I  think  it  tickles  her  sense  of  romance.  But 
there  is  a  way  of  getting  at  everything,  and  there 
must  be  some  way  of  approaching  this  outrageous 


146  OLD  EBENEZER 

affair.  I  have  looked  into  the  law,  and  I  find  that 
in  case  the  fellow  should  go  and  remain  away  one 
year,  his  signature  would  not  be  necessary.  How 
ever,  being  a  sort  of  a  lawyer,  he  knows  this  as  well 
as  I  do.  We  can't  bring  the  charge  of  non-support, 
for  we  have  not  let  him  try.  Zeb,  she  has  intimated 
that  you  are  afraid  of  him." 

The  banker  looked  straight  at  him,  but  the  mule- 
trader  did  not  change  countenance.  "No,  I  am 
not  afraid  of  him,"  he  said,  "but  unless  I'm  shoved 
pretty  far,  I  don't  care  to  mix  up  with  him,  I  tell 
you  that.  My  life  is  too  valuable  to  throw  away, 
and  they  tell  me  that  Lyman  is  nothing  short  of  a 
desperado  when  he  is  stirred  up,  though  you 
wouldn't  think  it  to  look  at  him.  But  you  can 
never  tell  a  man  by  looking  at  him,  not  half  as 
much  as  you  can  a  mule.  Oh,  if  the  worst  comes, 
I'd  kill  him,  but—" 

"That  would  never  do,"  the  banker  broke  in. 
"Don't  think  of  such  a  thing.  I  wonder  if  we 
couldn't  buy  him  off,"  he  added,  after  a  moment's 
musing.  "I  should  think  that  he  might  be  in 
duced  to  go  away.  There  is  one  thing  in  support 
of  this;  he  has  had  a  taste  of  success,  or  rather  a 
nibble  at  ambition,  and  he  may,  even  now,  be 


OLD  EBENEZER 

thinking  of  going  to  a  city.     Suppose  you  go  over 
and  see  him— offer  him  five  hundred  dollars." 

Sawyer  studied  awhile.  "He  couldn't  take  of 
fense  at  that,"  he  said.  "At  least  no  sensible  man 
ought  to.  Suppose  you  write  me  a  check  payable 

to  him." 

McElwin,  without  replying,  made  out  a  check, 
blotted  it  and  handed  it  to  Sawyer.  "Come 
back  and  tell  me,"  he  said. 

Lyman  was  writing  when  Sawyer  tapped  at  the 
open  door.     "Come  in,"  said  the  writer.     His  man 
ner  was  pleasant  and  his  countenance  was  genial, 
and  Sawyer,  standing  at  the  threshold,  felt  an  en 
couragement  coming  to  meet  him.     He   stepped 
forward  and  Lyman  invited  him  to  sit  down. 
"A  little  warm,"  said  Lyman. 
"Yes,  think  we'll  have  rain,  soon;  the  air's  so 

heavy." 

"Shouldn't  be  surprised.  It  would  help  farmers 
when  setting  out  their  tobacco  plants." 

"I  reckon  you  are  right.  But  the  farmers  would 
complain  anyway,  wet  or  dry.  The  weather 
wouldn't  suit  them,  even  if  they  had  the  ordering 
of  it." 


148  OLD  EBENEZER 

"Well,  in  that  they  are  not  different  from  the 
rest  of  us,"  said  Lyman.  "We  all  grumble." 

A  short  silence  followed.  Lyman  moved  some 
papers.  Sawyer  coughed  slightly.  They  heard 
the  grinding  of  the  press. 

"Printing  the  paper  in  there?"  said  Sawyer,  nod 
ding  toward  the  door.  He  began  to  turn  about  as 
if  nervous  at  the  thought  of  his  errand.  "How 
many, do* you  print  a  week?" 

"I  don't  know,  but  we  have  a  pretty  fair  circu 
lation." 

"I  see  it  a  good  deal  out  in  the  state." 

"Yes,  it  spreads  out  fairly  well.  We  try  to  make 
it  interesting  to  the  farmers." 

"By  telling  them  something  they  don't  know," 
said  the  visitor. 

Lyman  shook  his  head  slowly:  "By  reminding 
them  of  many  things  they  do  know,"  he  replied. 
"Tell  a  man  a  truth  he  doesn't  know  and  he  may 
dispute  it;  call  to  his  mind  a  truth  which  he  has 
known  and  forgotten,  and  he  regards  it  as  a  piece 
of  wisdom.  The  farmer  is  the  weather-cock  of  hu 
man  nature." 

"I  guess  you  have  about  hit  it.    By  the  way,  Mr, 


OLD  EBENEZER  149 

Lyman,  I  have  called  on  a  little  matter  of  business, 
and  I  hope  you'll  not  fly  off  before  you  consider  it, 
The  only  way  we  can  get  at  the  merits  of  a  case  is 
by  being  cool  and  deliberate.  The  last  time  we 
had  a  talk,  you — " 

"Yes,"  Lyman  interrupted,  "I  must  have  gone 
too  far  when  I  called  you  a  coward." 

"I  think  so,  sir,  but  be  that  as  it  may,  let  us  be 
cool  and  deliberate  now.  I  have  just  had  a  talk 
with  Mr.  McElwin  and  he  is  still  greatly  distressed 
over — over  that  affair,  and  he  thinks  by  putting 
our  reasons  to  work  we  can  get  at  a  settlement. 
The  fact  is,  he  wonders  that  you  would  want  to  stay 
in  such  a  small  and  unimportant  place  as  this  is, 
after  your  editorial  that  everybody  is  talking  4 
about." 

"Did  he  call  it  an  editorial?"  Lyman  asked,  smil 
ing  at  his  visitor. 

"Well,  I  don't  know  as  he  called  it  that,  but 
whatever  it  is,  he  was  a  good  deal  struck  by  it,  and 
he  wondered  that  you  didn't  go  to  some  big  city 
and  set  up  there.  And  I  wondered  so  too,  from 
all  that  I  heard.  Somebody,  I  have  forgotten  who, 
hinted  that  maybe  you  didn't  have  money  enough 
and—" 


150  OLD  EBENEZER 

"Money,"  said  Lyman;  "why,  I've  got  money 
enough  to  burn  a  wet  elephant." 

Sawyer  blinked  in  the  glare  of  this  dazzling  state 
ment,  but  he  managed  to  smile  and  then  to  pro 
ceed:  "I  spoke  to  Mr.  McElwin  about  what  had 
been  hinted,  and  inasmuch  as  you  had  applied  to 
him  for  a  loan,  he  didn't  know  but  it  was  the  truth." 

"A  very  natural  conclusion  on  his  part,"  said 
Lyman,  leaning  back  and  crossing  his  feet  on  a 
corner  of  the  table. 

Yes,  he  thought  so,  and  I  did,  too.  He  ain't  so 
hard  a  man  to  get  along  with  as  you  might  think." 

"He  is  not  a  hard  man  to  get  away  from.  It 
doesn't  seem  to  put  him  to  any  trouble  to  let  a  man 
know  when  he's  got  enough  of  him." 

"I'm  afraid  you  didn't  see  him  under  the  best 
conditions." 

"No,  I  don't  believe  I  did.  He  made  me  feel  as 
if  I  looked  like  the  man  standing  at  the  threshold 
of  the  almanac,  badly  cut  up,  with  crabs  and  horns 
and  other  things  put  about  him." 

"I  think  you  would  find  him  much  more  agree 
able  now." 

"Oh,  he  was  agreeable  enough  then,  only  he 
didn't  agree.  And  I  am  thankful  that  he  didn't." 


OLD  EBENEZER  151 

"Well,  he  regrets  that  he  didn't  let  you  have  the 
money,  although  you  came  in  an  unbusiness-like 
way." 

"Yes,  I  did.  And  pretending  to  be  a  lawyer,  I 
ought  to  have  known  better.  I  don't  blame  him 
for  that." 

"What  do  you  blame  him  for,  then?" 
"For  wanting  his  daughter  to  be  your  wife." 
Sawyer  jerked  his  hand  as  if  something  had  bit 
ten  him.     "But  what  right  have  you  to  blame  him 
for  that?     It  was  arranged  long  before  you  ever 
saw    me,    and    besides    what    right    have    you,  a 
stranger,  to  interfere  in  his  affairs?" 

"That's  very  well  put,  Mr.  Sawyer,  but  there  are 
some  affairs  that  rise  above  family  and  appeal  to 
humanity.  You  requested  me  to  be  cool  and  de 
liberate,  and  you  will  pardon  me,  I  hope,  if  I  am 
cooler  than  you  expected,  and  more  considerate 
than  you  desire.  It  would  be  a  crime  to  attempt 
to  merge  that  young  woman's  life  into  yours." 

"I  know  you  have  a  pretty  low  estimate  of  me, 
but  I  won't  resent  it.     We  are  to  be  cool." 

"And  considerate,"  said  Lyman,  with  a  slight 
bow. 


162  OLD  EBENEZER 

"Yes,  sir;  and  considerate.  But  I  don't  see 
where  the  crime  would  come  in.  My  family  is  as 
good  as  hers." 

"That  may  be.  I  am  not  looking  at  her  family, 
but  at  her.  She  was  spoiled,  it  is  true,  but  she  is 
developing  into  the  highest  type  of  American  wo 
manhood." 

"Yes,  but  I  haven't  come  to  discuss  her.  We 
were  talking  just  now  about  the  prospect  of  your 
going  away,  and  the  probability  that  you  might  not 
have  money  enough  to  settle  in  a  city.  Mr.  Mc- 
Elwin  is  willing  to  help  you  toward  that  end,  and 
has  signed  a  check  for  five  hundred  dollars,  made 
out  in  your  name.  Here  it  is."  He  handed  the 
check  to  Lyman,  who  took  it,  looked  at  it  and  said : 
"He  writes  a  firm  hand.  Money  gives  a  man  con 
fidence  in  himself,  doesn't  it?"  He  held  out  the 
check  toward  Sawyer.  The  latter  did  not  take  it, 
and  it  fluttered  in  the  air  and  fell  to  the  floor.  Saw 
yer  took  it  up  and  put  it  on  the  table,  with  an  ink 
stand  on  it  to  hold  it  down. 

"It  is  yours,  Mr.  Lyman;  it  is  made  out  to  you." 

"Upon  the  condition  that  I  leave  here  and  remain 
away  as  long  as  one  year.  Is  that  it?" 


OLD  EBENEZER  153 

"Well,  yes." 

"I  told  you  that  I  have  enough  money  to  burn 
a  wet  elephant.  I  haven't — I  haven't  enough  to 
scorch  a  dry  cricket." 

"Then  you  will  accept  the  check,"  said  Sawyer, 
brightening. 

Lyman  had  struck  a  match,  as  if  to  light  his  pipe. 
He  took  up  the  check  and  held  it  to  the  blaze. 
"Look  out,"  he  said,  as  Sawyer  sprung  to  interfere. 
"Sit  down."  He  took  the  cinders  and  wrapped 
them  in  a  piece  of  paper,  folding  it  neatly.  "Give 
this  to  Mr.  McElwin  and  tell  him  that  I  have  cre 
mated  the  little  ringer  of  his  god,  and  send  him  the 
ashes,"  he  said. 

Sawyer  stood  gazing  at  him  in  astonishment. 

"I  told  you  to  sit  down.  You  won't  sit  down. 
And  you  won't  take  the  god-ashes  to  the  devotee. 
Come,  that's  unkind." 

"Sir,  you  have  insulted  me." 

"What,  again?" 

"And  you  shall  regret  it.  And  you  shall  leave 
this  town,"  he  added,  turning  to  go.  "You  have 
not  only  insulted  me,  but  you — you  have  put  an 
indignity  upon  Mr.  McElwin."  Indignity  was 


154  OLD  EBENEZER 

rather  a  big  word,  coming  from  him  unexpectedly 
out  of  his  vague  recollection,  and  he  halted  to 
stiffen  with  a  better  opinion  of  himself.  "I  say  you 
shall  leave  this  town." 

"I  heard  what  you  said.  But  I  thought  we  were 
to  be  cool.  Oh,  pardon  me,  it  was  the  fire  that 
gave  offense." 

"I  say  you  are  going  to  leave  this  town." 

"Good-bye,  then." 

"I  will  make  one  more  attempt,"  said  Sawyer, 
standing  in  the  door. 

"Don't  exert  yourself." 

"I  will  offer  you  a  thousand  dollars  to  go  away." 

"My  stock  is  rising." 

"Will  you  take  it?" 

"The  advance  is  too  rapid.  Can't  afford  to  sell 
now." 

Sawyer  began  to  sputter.  "I'm  done,"  he  said. 
"I  have  no  other  proposition  to  make.  But  re 
member  what  I  say.  You  are  going  to  leave  this 


town." 


"Then  I  may  not  see  you  again;  good-bye.1 


CHAPTER  XVI. 
SAWYER'S  PI^AN. 

McElwin  was  engaged  when  Sawyer  returned  to 
the  bank,  but  he  soon  cleared  the  room.  "Well," 
he  said,  when  the  mule  buyer  entered.  Sawyer  sat 
down  before  he  replied. 

"He  refused." 

McElwin's  feet  scraped  the  floor.     "Refused?" 

"Yes.  He  took  the  check,  struck  a  match  and 
burned  it  up." 

"The  scoundrel." 

"Worse  than  that,  he  wrapped  up  the  cinders  and 
told  me  to  take  them  to  you,  and  tell  you  that  he 
had  burnt  the  little  ringer  of  your  god." 

"Blasphemous  wretch!" 

"And  I  told  him  that  he  had  not  only  insulted 
me,  but  had  put  an  indignity  upon  you.  I  talked 
to  him  just  as  cool  as  a  man  could  talk  to  anybody ; 
we  got  along  first  rate  until  he  burnt  the  check,  and' 
then,  of  course,  it  was  all  off.  No  it  wasn't,  not 
even  then.  As  I  stood  in  the  door  on  my  way  out 

(155) 


156  OLD  EBENEZER 

I  offered  him  a  thousand  dollars.  And  he  refused. 
And  do  you  know  why?  I  think  he's  got  the  no 
tion  that  by  sticking  out  he  may  win  you  and  Eva 
over  and  get  a  partnership  here." 

McElwin  jumped  up  and  slapped  his  hand  upon 

the  table.  "I  would  see  him  in  first."  He 

turned  about  and  began  to  walk  slowly  up  and 
down  the  room. 

"But  he's  going  to  leave  this  town,"  said  Sawyer. 
"When  I  set  my  head  on  a  thing  I  go  at  it  with 
reason  and  work  on  that  line  until  I  find  it  hasn't 
any  power,  and  then  I  use  force.  I  am  going  to  do 
it  in  this  case." 

"How?"  McElwin  asked. 

"The  boys  have  a  way  of  getting  at  a  thing  that 
persuasion  can't  reach." 

"Speak  out,"  said  McElwin.  "Tell  me  what  you 
are  going  to  do." 

"Well,  I  am  going  out  into  the  Spring  Hill 
neighborhood  and  appeal  to  the  boys — the  White 
Caps.  Then,  some  fine  night,  a  party,  all  dressed 
in  white  head-gear,  will  call  on  Mr.  Lyman.  They 
will  put  him  on  a  horse,  take  him  out  to  the  woods, 
take  off  his  shirt,  tie  him  across  a  log  and  give  him 


OLD  EBENEZER  157 

fifty  lashes  as  a  starter.  Then,  when  they  untie 
him,  they'll  remark  that  if  he  is  not  gone  within 
three  days  they  will  give  him  a  hundred.  See  the 
point?" 

"Zeb,  he  deserves  it,  but  I'm  afraid  that  course 
won't  do." 

"Not  weakening,  are  you?" 

"Weakening?  Who  ever  knew  me  to  weaken? 
I  say  he  deserves  it." 

"But  you  say  it  won't  do." 

"And  I'm  afraid  it  won't.  It  would  create  a  ter 
rible  scandal." 

"It's  done  every  week,  in  some  part  of  the  coun 
try.  Even  the  most  law-abiding  citizens  acknowl 
edge  that  it  is  a  good  thing." 

"It  might  do  in  the  country,  severe  as  it  is,  but  it 
would  be  different  in  town.  The  law  would  in 
terfere,  and  that  would  be  disgraceful." 

"But  the  law  will  not  interfere.  I  can  fix  the 
town  marshal,  and  as  for  the  sheriff — he  owes  me 
for  a  span  of  mules.  I  have  worked  it  all  out.  In 
the  evening  I'll  go  around  to  Uncle  Jasper's  with  a 
bottle  of  old  Bourbon.  I'll  tell  him  that  I  am  cele 
brating  my  birthday  or  something.  Once  in 


158  OLD  EBENEZER 

a  while  he  takes  to  the  bottle,  and  the  old 
liquor  will  tempt  him.  Well,  when  he's  in  good 
condition,  I'll  put  him  to  bed  and  shortly  after 
wards  the  boys  will  come  for  brother  Lyman.  In 
the  meantime  I  will  see  that  there  are  no  guns  in 
the  way.  The  women  will  be  scared,  of  course, 
but  they'll  soon  get  over  it.  Isn't  that  a  plan 
worthy  of  a  county  surveyor?" 

"The  plan's  all  right,  Zeb,  but  I'm  afraid  of  it's 
execution.  Supposing  my  name  should  become 
involved.  It  would  ruin  me." 

"Yes,  but  your  name  sha'n't  be  involved." 

"He  will  suspect  you  and  me,  too." 

"But  he  couldn't  prove  anything." 

"Well,  now,  you  may  do  as  you  please,  but  I'll 
tiave  no  hand  in  it.  I  refuse  to  countenance  it." 

"You  simply  don't  know  anything  about  it." 

"Of  course  not.  I'm  too  much  taken  up  with 
other  affairs." 

Sawyer  arose  to  go.  "I  shall  see  you  again,  I 
suppose.  I  mean  before  anything  is  done,"  said 
McElwin.  "At  the  house,"  he  added. 

Sawyer  looked  down:  "I  don't  feel  free  to  come 
there,"  he  said.  "She  has  told  me  not  to." 


OLD  EDENEZER  159 

McElwin  coughed  dryly:  "Nonsensical  proprie 
ties,"  he  remarked,  scraping  his  feet  upon  the  floor. 
"But  I  am  to  see  you  again?" 

"I  think  not — until  afterwards.  Whatever  is 
done,  you  know,  must  be  done  at  once." 

Sawyer  went  out.  The  clock  struck  and  Mc 
Elwin  planced  up  at  it.  Then  he  settled  down  into  a 
deep  muse.  Sawyer's  plan  was  desperate — it  was 
outlawry.  It  ought  not  to  be  carried  out,  and  yet 
the  provocation  was  great.  But  supposing  it 
should  be  known  that  he  had  given  countenance  to 
the  undertaking.  Suppose  the  newspapers  should 
print  his  name  in  connection  with  it;  the  public,  to 
say  nothing  of  the  law,  would  frown  upon  him.  It 
must  not  be  done.  He  snatched  a  piece  of  paper, 
and  writing  upon  it  the  words:  "Give  up  that 
scheme  at  once,"  sealed  it  up  and  gave  it  to  a  negro, 
with  instructions  to  find  Mr.  Sawyer  and  hand  it  to 
him  at  once.  About  half  an  hour  later  the  negro 
returned  with  a  note  written  on  a  piece  of  paper 
bag,  and  unsealed.  The  note  ran:  "Don't  you 
worry,  but  it  shall  be  done  tonight.  Don't  try  to 
find  me.  I  have  been  fooling  long  enough,  and 
now  I  am  getting  down  to  business."  He  tore  the 


160  OLD  EBENEZER 

paper  into  bits,  and  then  strode  slowly  up  and  down 
the  room.  Presently  he  took  down  his  hat,  rubbed  it 
abstractedly  with  the  sleeve  of  his  coat,  and  went  out, 
remarking  that  he  might  not  be  back  that  day.  He 
felt  like  a  criminal  as  he  stepped  upon  the  side 
walk.  But  he  was  stiff,  and  merely  nodded  to  the 
tradesmen  who  bowed  to  him  cringingly.  He  was 
looking  for  Sawyer,  but  was  afraid  to  inquire  after 
him.  He  went  to  the  wagon  yard  where  Sawyer 
stabled  his  mules,  and  looked  about,  but  did  not 
find  him.  The  owner  of  the  place,  hard  in  the 
presence  of  the  farmers,  but  obsequiously  soft  un 
der  the  banker's  eye,  invited  him  into  the  office,  a 
dismal  place,  the  walls  hung  with  halters,  bridles, 
chains  and  twisting  sticks,  used  to  grip  the  jaw  of 
a  refractory  horse  and  wrench  rebellion  out  of  him. 
The  rough  appearance  of  the  stable  men  within  and 
the  pungent  smell  of  the  place,  turned  McElwin 
at  the  threshold. 

"No,  I  don't  think  I  have  time,"  he  said. 

"Is  there  anything  I  can  do  for  you?  If  there  is, 
name  it,  and  I  will  stir  up  this  place  from  top  to 
bottom." 

McElwin  thought  that  it  was  stirred  up  quite 


OLD  EBENEZER  161 

enough,  with  its  rough  men,  its  mangy  dogs  and 
rat-like  smell.  "Nothing  at  all,"  he  answered.  "I 
am  looking  for  a  farmer,  a  man  named  Brown." 

"Old  Jack?  He's  around  here  somewhere.  It 
will  tickle  him  pretty  nigh  to  death  to  know  you'd 
look  for  him.  I'll  tell  him  when  he  comes  in." 

"Oh,  no.  He's  not  the  man.  This  man's  quite 
young,  and  his  name  is  Luc-ian  Brown,  I  think." 

"Then  I  don't  know  anything  about  him,  I'm 
sorry  to  say." 

"Are  you  feeding  many  mules  at  present?" 

"Well,  not  many  at  present,  but  I  expect  to  have 
more  in  a  day  or  two.  Mr.  Sawyer  has  gone 
down  in  the  country  to  gather  up  a  lot.  He  drove 
out  just  a  few  moments  ago.  I  tell  you,  there's  a 
hustler,  Mr.  McElwin.  He  don't  wait,  he  makes 
things  happen." 

"Which  way  did  he  go?"  McElwin  asked. 

"I  don't  know,  exactly,  but  I  think  he  took  the 
Spring  Hill  road.  He  must  be  going  after  some 
thing  particularly  fine,  for  I  heard  him  tell  old 
Josh  that  he  wanted  a  bottle  of  the  oldest  liquor  in 
town,  no  matter  what  it  costs.  But  he  didn't  take 


162  OLD  EBENEZER 

it  with  him,  come  to  recollect.  He  'lowed  he'd 
want  it  this  evening  when  he  come  back." 

McElwin  walked  straightway  to  his  home.  His 
appearance  at  that  odd  hour  caused  surprise,  and 
his  wife,  having  seen  him  through  the  window, 
came  to  the  door  with  something  of  a  flurry. 

"Is  there  anything  wrong?"  she  asked,  as  he 
stepped  into  the  hall. 

"Nothing  at  all,"  he  answered,  hanging  up  his 
hat.  "Why?" 

"Because  you  are  home  so  early." 

"Oh,  that's  it.  I  was  tired  and  I  thought  I'd 
come  home  to  rest." 

She  took  his  arm  and  they  passed  into  the  rear 
parlor.  "Where  is  Eva?"  he  asked,  sitting  down. 

"I  don't  know.  I  think  she's  out  for  a  walk. 
Are  you  tired?"  she  asked,  standing  behind  him, 
with  her  hands  resting  on  the  back  of  the  chair. 

"Not  now,"  he  said,  reaching  back  and  taking 
her  hands.  He  pressed  them  against  his  cheeks. 
"You  always  rest  me." 

"Do  I?"  She  leaned  affectionately  over  him.  "I 
was  afraid  that  I  did  not.  You  have  had  so  much  to 
worry  you  of  late." 


OLD  EBENEZER  163 

''Yes,"  he  sighed.  "But  when  we  are  alone  I 
can  forget  it  all.  Play  something  for  me,  please." 

She  looked  at  him  in  surprise:  "When  did  you 
ask  me  to  play,  before?" 

"I  don't  know,"  he  answered  frankly.  "You 
most  always  play  without  my  asking.  Sing  an  old 
song,  something  we  used  to  sing  long  ago." 

She  went  to  the  piano  and  touched  to  life  the 
strains  of  "Kitty  Clyde."  And  when  her  voice 
arose,  he  felt  a  lump  in  his  throat,  and  he  sat  with 
his  eyes  shut,  with  a  picture  in  his  heart — an  old 
house,  a  honey-suckle,  a  beautiful  girl  in  white, 
with  a  rose  in  her  hair. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 
AT  THE  CREEK. 


Shortly  after  Sawyer  took  his  leave,  Lyman  went 
out  for  a  meditative  stroll  in  the  wooded  land. 
About  a  mile  and  a  half  distant  was  a  creek,  with 
great  bluffs  on  one  side,  and  with  a  romantic  tum 
ble  of  land  on  the  other.  Of  late  he  had  gone  often 
to  this  stream,  not  to  listen  to  the  melody  of 
water  pouring  over  the  rocks,  not  to  hear  the  birds 
that  held  a  joy-riot  in  the  trees,  but  to  lie  in  the 
grass  on  a  slope,  beneath  an  elm,  and  gaze  across  at 
a  limestone  tower  called  "Lover's  Leap."  And  on 
these  journeys  he  always  went  through  the  shaded 
lane-like  street  that  led  past  the  banker's  house.  It 
was  the  most  pretentious  house  in  the  town,  of 
brick,  trimmed  with  stone.  In  the  yard,  which  was 
large,  the  great  man  had  indulged  his  taste  for  art, 
stucco  statuary  —  a  deer,  a  lion,  a  dog,  two  Greek 
wrestlers,  a  mother  with  a  child  in  her  arms,  and  a 
ghastly  semblance  of  Andrew  Jackson. 

Lyman   reached   the   shore   of   the   creek  and 

(164) 


OLD  EBENEZER  165 

walked  slowly  among  the  large,  smooth  rocks,  that 
looked  like  the  hip  bones  of  the  worn  and  tired  old 
earth,  coming  through.  As  he  approached  the  tree 
and  the  grassy  slope  whereon  he  was  wont  to  lie  and 
muse,  he  saw  the  fluttering  of  something  white,  and 
then  from  behind  the  tree  a  woman  stepped.  His 
heart  beat  faster,  for  he  recognized  her,  and  when 
he  came  up,  with  softened  tread,  to  the  tree,  he  was 
panting  as  if  he  had  run  a  race.  The  woman  did 
not  see  him  until  he  spoke,  her  eyes  having  been 
cast  down  when  she  passed  from  behind  the  tree, 
and  she  started  and  blushed  at  beholding  him. 

"I  hope  I  don't  intrude,"  he  said,  taking  off  his 
hat. 

"Oh,  no,  since  you  have  as  much  right  here  as  I 
have." 

"I  don't  know  but  that  I  have  a  pretty  good 
right,"  he  said.  "That  is,  if  occupancy  means  any 
thing.  I  come  here  often." 

"Do  you?"  she  cried  in  surprise.  "Why,  I  have 
never  seen  you  here  before,  and  this  has  been  my 
favorite  spot  for  years." 

"Well,  as  we  are  both  at  home,"  he  said,  laugh 
ing,  "we  might  as  well  sit  down." 


166  OLD  EBENEZER 

They  laughed  and  seated  themselves  on  the 
spreading  roots  of  the  tree,  though  not  very  near 
each  other.  She  took  off  her  hat  and  he  looked 
with  admiration  at  her  brown  hair,  tied  with  a  rib 
bon.  She  flushed  under  his  gaze  and  said  he  must 
pardon  her  appearance,  as  she  had  not  expected  to 
meet  anyone. 

"A  violet  might  say  as  much/'  he  replied. 

"You  must  not  talk  that  way,"  she  said. 

"Why?    Because  you  like  to  hear  it?" 

'The  idea!    How  could  you  say  that?" 

"Because  modesty  protests  against  the  words 
that  a  woman  most  likes  to  hear,  and  modesty  does 
not  chide  until  she  ventures  upon  an  enjoyment." 

"Then  modesty  is  a  scold,  instead  of  a  friendly 
guide." 

"No.     But  over-modesty  is  over-caution." 

"We  were  not  talking  of  over-modesty.  Are  you 
as  bold  with  all  women  as  you  are  with  me?"  She 
looked  at  him  with  quizzical  mischief  in  her  eyes. 
He  plucked  a  white  clover  blossom  and  tossed  it 
upward.  It  fell  in  her  lap. 

"Bold,  did  you  say?  Am  I  bold?  Most  women 
have  laughed  at  my  angular  shyness." 


OLD  EBENEZER  167 

"Laughed  at  you;  how  could  they?" 

"On  account  of  my  peculiarities.  I  was  called 
an  old  bachelor  before  I  was  twenty,  and  as  I  grew 
older  I  considered  myself  one,  irredeemably,  for  I 
never  expected  to  marry." 

"I  should  have  thought  your  life  full  of  romance, 
wandering  about,  as  you  must  have  done." 

"My  life  has  been  a  tread-mill,"  he  answered. 

"But  you  see  so  many  beautiful  things  in  na 
ture." 

"The  horse  on  the  tread-wheel  can  look  through 
a  crack,  and  see  a  flower  growing  outside." 

"Has  your  life  been  really  hard?"  she  asked. 

"Yes,  desperately  hard,  at  times." 

"But  you  don't  show  it.  You  seem  so  kind  and 
gentle." 

"If  I  do,  it  is  out  of  charity  for  those  who  have 
suffered." 

"But  I  don't  see  any  sign  of  your  suffering,  you 
write  so  beautifully." 

"I  had  to  suffer  before  I  could  write.  The  heart 
cannot  express  a  joy  until  it  has  felt  a  sorrow." 

She  gave  him  her  frank,  admiring  eyes.  "Why 
haven't  I  met  such  men  as  you  are?  I  have  not 


168  OLD  EBENEZER 

lived  here  all  my  life;  I  have  travelled  with  my  aunt, 
who  knew  the  world,  and  she  took  me  to  many 
strange  places,  and  I  met  many  men,  but  they 
didn't  appeal  to  me  or  interest  me  any  more  than 
those  I  met  at  home.  It  was  all  the  same  old  com 
monplace  flattery." 

"You  have  never  found  a  man  so  interesting  be 
cause  you  have  never  had  the  opportunity  to  see  a 
man  standing  in  the  light  I  stand  in  now,"  he 
replied.  "Our  relationship  has  given  me  a  new 
color." 

She  shook  her  head:  "I  have  thought  of  that, 
but  I  believe  that  I  should  have  found  you  interest 
ing,  even  if  I  should  have  met  you  in  the  ordinary 
way." 

"No,  you  would  never  have  allowed  yourself  the 
time.  Some  sobering  process  was  required." 

"Yes,  that  is  true,"  she  frankly  admitted. 

In  the  tree  tops  above  them  the  birds  were  riot 
ous.  The  air  was  scented  with  a  sharp  sweetness 
from  the  wild  mint  that  grew  at  the  edge  of  the 
water. 

"Has  Mr  Sawyer  been  to  see  you?" 

"He  came  today." 


OLD  EBENEZER 

"Tell  me  about  his  visit.     What  did  he  say?" 

"He  wanted  to  buy  me — wanted  to  hire  me  to 
go  away." 

"Tell  me  all  about  it.  Remember,  we  are 
friends." 

"He  brought  a  check  for  five  hundred  dollars, 
signed  by  your  father." 

"I  think  you  have  told  me  enough,"  she  said. 

A  flock  of  sheep  came  pattering  along  the  road 
that  skirted  the  hill-top,  not  far  away.  A  bare 
footed  boy  shouted  in  the  dust  behind  them. 

"Not  much  more  remains  to  be  told.  He  said  I 
would  regret  not  having  taken  the  check." 

"Did  he  threaten  you?" 

"Well,  he  said  that  I  would  have  to  leave  town." 

"He  is  afraid  of  you,  and  he  knows  it." 

"If  he  is,  he  ought  to  know  it,"  Lyman  drolly  re 
plied.  "If  he  doesn't  know  it,  somebody  ought  to 
tell  him.  But  I  won't  go  away  and  leave  you  un 
protected." 

She  looked  at  him  gratefully.  "How  strange  it 
sounds,  and  yet  how  true  it  is  that  you  are  my  only 
real  protector.  My  father  cannot  understand  why 
I  don't  place  Mr.  Sawyer's  money-getting  ability 


170  OLD  EBENEZER 

above  everything  else.  He  thinks  Mr.  Sawyer  will 
become  one  of  the  greatest  men  in  the  country. 
And  I  admit  that  at  times  this,  together  with 
father's  entreaty,  has  had  a  strong  influence  over 
me.  But  I  don't  think/'  she  added,  shaking  her 
head,  "that  I  could  ever  have  married  that  man. 
"No,"  she  said  energetically,  as  she  pointed  across 
the  stream,  "that  rock,  first." 

"You  wouldn't  do  that,"  Lyman  replied. 

"Wouldn't  I?  Don't  we  read  every  day  of  wo 
men  who  kill  themselves?" 

"Yes,  of  women  whose  minds  are  not  sound." 

"But  who  shall  say  when  a  mind  is  not  sound? 
How  do  you  know  that  it  is?  What  proof  have  I? 
We  often  read  that  no  one  suspected  that  Miss  So- 
and-So  had  the  slightest  intention  of  destroying 
herself.  Well,  I  may  be  a  Miss  So-and-So." 

"I  have  no  right  to  doubt  your  word,"  said  Ly 
man.  "Things  that  we  most  doubt  sometimes 
come  to  pass,  and  then  we  wonder  why  we  should 
have  questioned  them.  But  I  will  stand  between 
you  and  the  rock;  I  will  be  your  friend  and  confi 
dant,  your  brother,  let  us  say.  You  must  keep 
faith  with  me,  and  if  you  ever  really  fall  in  love,  the 


OLD  EBENEZER  171 

sweet,  torturing,  the  desperate  sort  of  love  which 
must  exist,  come  to  me  and  tell  me." 

"I  will  keep  faith.  But  why  do  you  say  the  sweet 
and  torturing  and  desperate  love  that  must  exist? 
You  talk  as  if  it  was  a  speculation  of  the  mind 
rather  than  a  fact  of  the  heart.  Don't  you  know 
that  it  does  exist?  Was  there  not  a  woman  in  the 
past  who  aroused  it  within  you?" 

"I  have  seen  one  or  two  women  who  might  have 
done  so.  I  remember  one  particularly.  I  was 
young  and  foolish,  of  course,  but  as  I  looked  at 
her  I  thought  she  could  win  my  soul.  I  did  not 
know  her;  I  saw  her  only  once  and  that  was  at  a 
hotel  in  the  White  Mountains.  She  and  a  party 
of  ladies  and  gentlemen  dined  at  the  hotel,  and  I 
was  a  waiter."  She  looked  up  at  him.  "Yes,  a 
waiter,  with  a  white  apron  on  and  a  Greek  Testament 
in  my  pocket.  The  employment  was  menial,  per 
haps  loathsome  in  your  eyes." 

"No,"  she  said  with  a  shiver.  "Perhaps  you  had 
to  do  it." 

"Yes,  under  a  keen  whip,  the  desire  to  continue 
my  education.  I  think  I  must  have  been  the  first 
of  my  race  to  run  forward  at  the  tap  of  a  knife  on  a 


172  OLD  EBENEZER 

dish.  In  my  strong  determination  to  fit  myself — 
as  I  then  thought — for  the  duties  of  life,  I  would 
have  done  almost  anything  to  further  my  plans; 
and  I  was  never  really  ashamed  of  my  having  to 
wait  at  table  to  earn  knowledge-money,  until  the 
night  I  saw  you — until  you  turned  to  some  one  and 
said:  'What,  that  thing!'" 

"I  did  say  that,"  she  answered,  "yes,  and  I  have 
censured  myself  a  thousand  times.  I  hoped  that  you 
had  not  heard  me.  I  am  awfully  sorry." 

"Oh,  I  don't  take  it  to  heart.  It  hurt  my  pride 
a  little  and  it  gave  me  a  wrong  impression  of  you." 

"Let  us  forget  it.  I  was  always  a  fool — until 
after  that  night.  But  about  the  woman,  what  be 
came  of  her?" 

"I  don't  know.  She  blew  away  like  the  down  of 
the  dandelion." 

"And  you  didn't  see  her  again?" 

"Never  again." 

"But  you  dreamed  of  her?" 

"No.  You  misunderstand  me.  I  didn't  fall  in 
love  with  her.  I  say  that  I  might  have  loved  her. 
Perhaps  upon  becoming  acquainted  with  her,  I 
might  have  smiled  at  my  foolish  belief — might  have 
found  her  uninteresting." 


OLD  EBENEZER  173 

"You  said  there  was  one  or  two — the  other  one? 
What  about  her?" 

"I  don't  remember  her  at  all.  I  say  that  I  may 
have  seen  her,  but  I  don't  recall  her."  t 

"Perhaps  the  other  one  has  read  your  story." 

"Or  perhaps  her  daughter  honeyed  over  it  on 
her  wedding  journey,"  he  suggested,  laughing. 

A  light  vehicle  rattled  down  the  road,  and  she 
looked  up.  "I  was  thinking  that  someone  might 
drive  past  and  recognize  us,"  she  said.  "It  may  be 
wrong,  but  I  don't  want  father  to  know  that  we 
meet,  except  by  accident." 

"Wasn't  this  meeting  an  accident?"  he  asked, 
hoping  that  she  would  say  it  was  not,  on  her  part. 

"Yes.  But  sitting  here  under  this  tree  is  not. 
And  I  must  go,"  she  added,  arising.  He  got  up  and 
stood  there,  hoping  that  she  would  hold  out  her 
hand  to  him,  but  she  did  not.  "Good-bye,"  she 
said,  smiling  as  she  turned  away. 

"Let  me  hope  for  another  accident,  soon,"  Ly- 
man  replied,  bowing  to  her. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 
AT  THE  WAGON-MAKER'S  SHOP. 


Sawyer  drove  rapidly  toward  Spring  Hill,  about 
eight  miles  distant  from  Old  Ebenezer.  The  land 
was  uneven,  with  oak  ridges,  beech  slopes  and 
shell-bark  hickory  fiats,  but  the  road  was  smooth, 
and  for  the  two  trotting  horses  the  buggy  was 
merely  a  plaything.  He  drew  up  at  a  wagon- 
maker's  shop,  the  end  of  his  journey,  and  threw  the 
lines  to  a  negro  who  came  forward  to  meet  him. 

"You  needn't  feed  them,"  he  said.  "Take  the 
harness  off  and  let  them  run  about  the  lot.  They've 
been  shut  up  till  they're  frisky." 

A  large  man,  in  his  shirt  sleeves,  and  with  collar 
unbuttoned,  met  him  at  the  door. 

"Helloa,  Mr.  Zeb." 

"Helloa,  Steve,  where's  Bob?" 

"Come  in.     He's  about,  somewhere." 

Sawyer  entered  and  sat  down  on  a  large  block 
of  wood,  his  feet  half  hidden  in  a  pile  of  chips.  A 
hand-saw,  hanging  on  the  wall,  caught  a  shaft  of 

(174) 


OLD  EBENEZER  175 

light  from  the  sun,  and  threw  it  into  his  eyes.  He 
turned  slightly  and  spoke  to  the  wagon-maker. 

"How's  business  with  you?" 

"Bad  enough.  People  can  buy  wagons  a  good 
deal  cheaper  than  I  can  afford  to  make  'em.  They 
tell  me  that  up  north  a  man  can  go  into  a  place  and 
they'll  make  him  a  wagon  while  he  waits,  ironed 
and  all  ready  for  the  road,  and  for  a  third  less  than 
I  can  do  it.  I  can't  buck  against  anything  like 
that.  I've  got  to  get  my  timber  ou*  of  the  woods 
and  season  it,  and  take  care  of  it  like  it  was  a  lame 
leg,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing,  to  say  nothin'  of  the 
work  after  I  get  down  to  it.  Just  before  the  elec 
tion,"  said  the  wagon-maker,  sitting  down  upon  an 
unfinished  hub,  taking  up  an  oak  splinter  and  put 
ting  one  end  of  it  into  his  mouth,  "a  man  come 
around  here  and  'lowed,  he  did,  that  if  we  could 
get  a  majority  of  farmers  into  the  legislature,  the 
condition  of  affairs  would  be  changed.  He  'lowed 
that  they'd  make  it  a  point  to  put  a  tax  on  wagons 
not  made  in  the  state.  Well,  they  got  in,  and 
about  all  they  did  was  to  fight  the  railroads,  tear 
the  digest  to  pieces  and  tinker  with  the  marriage 
law,  as  some  of  you  folks  in  Old  Ebenezer  have 


176  OLD  EBENEZER 

good  cause  to  know.  Why,  if  you  read  the  papers 
at  the  time,  you  recollect  that  one  old  feller  from 
Blaxon  county  said  that  marriage  license  was  an 
outrage— 'lowed,  he  did,  that  there  wa'n't  no  li 
cense  writ  out  for  Adam.  Yes,  and  he  said  that 
down  in  his  neighborhood  several  young  fellers 
held  off  from  marryin'  because  they  couldn't  afford 
to  pay  for  the  license.  He  said  it  was  a  sin  and  a 
shame  to  put  a  tax  on  a  man  that  was  tryin'  to  do 
somethin'  for  his  country." 

"Do  you  think  Bob  will  be  back  pretty  soon?" 
Sawyer  asked,  working  his  feet  deep  down  among 
the  chips. 

"Yes,  he  ought  to  be  here  now.  If  he  don't 
come  pretty  soon  I'll  send  the  nigger  to  look  for 
him.  How's  that  marriage  of  McElwin's  daughter 
gettin'  along?" 

"Not  at  all.     It's  just  the  same." 

"Feller  still  there?" 

"Yes;  he's  running  the  paper." 

"Don't  'pear  to  mind  it,  I  reckon.  I  wonder  Mc- 
Elwin  don't  hire  him  to  pull  out.  Well,  down  in 
this  neighborhood  we've  got  a  way  of  settlin'  such 
things.  We  tell  a  feller  to  go  and  if  he  refutes, 


OLD  EBENEZER  177 

why,  we  see  that  he  goes.  We've  got  a  mighty 
lively  set  of  young  fellers." 

"And  your  brother  Bob  is  one  of  the  liveliest," 
said  Sawyer. 

"Well,  Bob  ain't  slow.  The  other  night  they 
took  out  a  feller  over  on  Caney  Fork,  feller  that 
had  dropped  into  the  habit  of  whippin'  his  wife — 
and  they  hit  him  about  forty-five,  with  a  promise  of 
more;  and  they  say  now  that  he's  as  sweet  to  his 
home  folks  as  a  June  apple-pie.  Oh,  it  do  have  a 
powerful  sweetenin'  effect  on  a  sour  citizen.  Any 
sour  citizens  up  your  way?" 

"One,"  Sawyer  answered. 

"Don't  know  why,  but  I  sorter  thought  so.  It's 
dangerous  in  town,  ain't  it?" 

"Not  when  you  fix  everything." 

"Well,  then,  go  ahead,  but  keep  outer  the  way  of 
the  law.  Here's  Bob  now." 

A  tall,  gaunt  young  fellow  stepped  into  the  shop. 
He  was  a  type  of  the  southern  ruralist,  broad,  flap 
ping  straw  hat,  home-woven  shirt,  cottonade  trou 
sers,  one  suspender.  He  grinned  upon  seeing 
Sawyer,  and  said,  "Hi." 

"Ho,  Bob.    Busy  tonight?" 


178  OLD  EBENEZER 

"Ain't  rushed.     Anything  blowing  in  the  wind?" 
"A  little  fun,  that's  all." 

"Then  let  her  blow  my  way.  Steve,  here,  'lows 
he's  gettin'  so  old  that  he  don't  care  for  fun  any 
more,  but  I  have  to  have  it — bread  and  blackberry 
jam  to  me." 

"Well,  you  shall  have  it.  How  are  the  boys,  the 
White  Caps?" 

"Finer'n  silk  split  three  times." 
"Can  you  call  them  together  for  tonight?" 
"By  howlin'  like  a  wolf.     Do  you  want  'em?" 
"Yes.    Will  twenty  dollars  pay  the  way?" 
"We'll  whip  the  governor  of  the  state  for  that 
much." 

Sawyer  unfolded  his  plan.  The  boys  were  to  be 
in  front  of  old  Jasper's  house  at  midnight. 

"Don't  let  nobody  take  a  gun  with  him,"  said 
Steve.  "If  you  do  there  mout  be  serious  trouble. 
And  there  won't  be  no  need  of  it,  as  you  say  every 
thing  will  be  fixed.  I  know  what  I'm  talkin' 
about.  Give  one  of  them  boys  a  pop  and  he'll  use 
it  whether  occasion  warrants  or  not.  I  know  'em." 
"Well,  they  needn't  put  themselves  to  the  trouble 
of  firing  off  a  gun  to  scare  that  chap.  He  ain't  one 


OLD  EBENEZER  179 

of  the  sort  that  scares,"  Sawyer  was  gracious 
enough  to  admit.  "He  don't  tote  a  pistol  and  I'll 
manage  to  slip  into  his  room  and  see  if  he  has  one 

there,  and  if  he  has,   I'll  hook  it.     I   have  also 

i 

hatched  out  a  plan  to  get  the  women  folks  away. 
I've  got  my  mother,  and  of  course  she  knows  noth 
ing  about  the  affair,  to  send  a  message  by  me  ask 
ing  them  to  come  over  to  our  house.  If  I  can  get 
the  old  man  to  go,  too,  so  much  the  better.  But  he 
don't  care  to  go  out  much  at  night,  and  I  reckon 
my  only  course  will  be  to  get  him  drunk." 

"Say,"  said  Bob,  "you 'lowed  your  man  wa'n'teasy 
toskeer,and  if  that's  the  case,  what's  the  useoftakin* 
him  a  mile  or  two  to  the  woods?  Men  that  don't 
skeer  don't  holler.  Why  not  put  it  to  him  right 
then  and  there,  out  in  the  yard,  over  a  barrel.?" 

Before  Sawyer  could  reply,  the  philosophic  mind 
of  Steve  saw  the  practical  sense  of  his  brother's 
suggestion.  "I  reckon  he's  got  the  right  idee,  Mr. 
Sawyer.  He's  done  so  much  of  this  sort  of  work  * 
lately  that  now  it  comes  to  him  somewhat  in  the 
natur*  of  a  trade.  You  can  tell  him  a  good  deal 
about  mules  that  I  reckon  he  don't  know,  but  he 
knows  the  fine  p'ints  in  men  like  a  hungry  feller 


180  OLD  EBENEZER 

knows  the  fine  p'ints  of  a  fried  chicken.  Better  let 
him  have  his  way." 

"I  am  more  than  willing,"  said -Sawyer.  'The 
sooner  it's  over  with  the  better  it  will  suit  me.  It's 
results  I'm  after.  There's  a  rain-water  barrel  at 
the  corner  of  the  house,"  he  went  on,  reflectively. 
"We  can  pour  the  water  out  and  roll  the  barrel 
around  where  we'll  have  plenty  of  room.  Do  you 
think  he'll  be  willing  to  go  away,  Bob?" 

Bob  stood  leaning  back,  with  his  elbows  on  the 
vise  bench.  "Well,"  he  drawled,  "an  examination 
of  the  books  of  my  firm  will  show  that  none  ain't 
never  failed  yet.  I  have  know'd  them  to  argy  and 
object,  but  I'll  jest  tell  you  that  a  hickory  sprout 
laid  on  right,  can  soon  make  a  man  lose  sight  of 
the  p'int  in  his  own  discussion.  Why,  when  we  get 
through  with  a  man,  and  tell  him  what  we  want 
him  to  do,  he  thanks  us,  as  if  we  had  given  him  the 
opportunity  of  his  life." 

"All  right,"  Sawyer  laughed,  getting  up.  "Be 
there  on  time  is  all  I  ask." 


CHAPTER  XIX. 
A  RESTLESS  NIGHT. 

The  air  was  damp.  At  evening  a  heavy  mist 
came  with  the  soft  June  wind,  and  the  night  was 
dark.  McElwin  had  gone  over  to  the  town  after 
supper,  something  he  rarely  did  alone,  having  the 
rich  man's  dread  of  a  dark  street;  but  he  soon  re 
turned  and  paced  nervously  up  and  down  the  room. 
And  more  than  once  he  muttered,  shaking  his 
head:  "I  can't  help  it;  I  tried  to  prevent  it,  but 
couldn't."  He  told  his  wife  that  he  was  worried 
over  a  piece  of  business,  and  as  business  was  the 
awe-inspiring  word  of  the  household,  she  stood 
aloof  from  him,  in  nervous  sympathy  with  his 
worry;  and  the  negro  servants  spoke  in  whispers. 
From  her  walk  her  daughter  had  returned  in  a  sol 
emn  state  of  mind.  Her  manner,  which  had  been 
growing  gentler,  was  now  touched  with  a  winsome 
melancholy,  and  her  eyes  appeared  to  be  larger  and 
dreamier.  Of  late  an  old  minister,  who  for  nearly 
half  a  century  had  worn  a  tinkling  bell  in  the  midst 

(181) 


182  OLD  EBENEZER 

of  a  devoted  flock,  had  called  frequently  to  talk  to 
her,  and  in  her  smile  the  old  man  saw  the  spirit  of 
religion,  though  not  of  one  creed,  but  the  heart's 
religion  of  the  past,  of  the  present,  of  Eternity. 

Mrs.  McElwin  went  up  to  Eva's  room,  leaving 
her  husband  to  continue  his  troubled  walk.  The 
girl  was  sitting  at  the  window.  "Come  in,"  she 
said. 

"I'm  worried  about  your  father,"  said  Mrs.  Mc 
Elwin,  sitting  down  with  a  sigh.  "Have  you  said 
anything  to  annoy  him?" 

"No,  nothing  that  I  can  remember." 

"Well,  something  has  happened.  Have  you 
seen — seen  Mr.  Lyman  since  the  evening  of  the 
picnic?  You  told  me  that  you  saw  him  then,  but 
you  haven't  told  me  of  seeing  him  since.  And  I 
don't  dare  tell  your  father." 

"No,  for  you  promised  me  that  you  wouldn't." 

"But  have  you  kept  your  promise  to  me?  You 
told  me  you  would  tell  me  if  you  met  him  again." 

"Yes,  and  I  will  keep  my  word.  I  met  him  to 
day,  over  by  the  creek,  and  we  sat  down  under  a 
tree  and  talked.  And,  oh,  his  voice  almost 
made  me  sob  as  I  sat  there,  listening  to  him." 


OLD  EBENEZER  183 

"Eva,"  said  her  mother. 

"I  can't  help  it.  His  life  has  been  so  hard,  and 
yet  it  has  made  him  so  considerate  and  so  gentle. 
Mother,  why  haven't  I  met  such  a  man  among  our 
friends — why  didn't  I  see  one  in  my  travels?" 

"My  daughter,  can't  you  understand  the  strange 
interest  you  take  in  him?  Have  you  considered  the 
circumstances — " 

"I  have  considered  everything,  and  it  would  have 
been  the  same  no  matter  where  we  might  have  met. 
Mother,"  she  said,  turning  with  a  smile,  more  than 
sad  in  the  dim  light,  "  do  you  know  that  old  log 
cabin  over  on  the  hill  where  the  pension  woman 
used  to  live?  Yes,  for  we  could  see  it  from  here  in 
daylight.  I  passed  there  today,  coming  home, 
and  I  stopped  and  gazed  at  the  wretched  place,  and 
suddenly  there  came  a  thought  that  almost  took 
my  breath  away.  I  thought  that  with  him — "  she 
leaned  over  and  took  her  mother's  hand — "that 
with  him  I  could  live  there  and  bless  God  for  my 
happiness." 

"My  darling  child,  you  must  not  think  that — you 
couldn't  think  that." 

"But  I  did,  and  though  the  world  seemed  further 


184  OLD  EBENEZER 

away,  heaven  was  closer.  I  ought  to  have  been  a 
poor  man's  daughter,  mother,  for  love  is  all  there 
is  to  live  for." 

They  put  their  arms  about  each  other.  "It 
would  break  your  father's  heart,"  the  mother  said, 
her  tears  falling.  "It  would  crush  him  to  the 
earth." 

"I  know  it,  and  my  heart  may  be  crushed,  in 
stead  of  his.  But  that  petition  must  not  be 
signed." 

"Let  us  wait,  my  child.  Don't  say  anything. 
Don't—" 

They  heard  McElwin  calling  from  the  foot  of  the 
stairs.  "Lucy,  Lucy,  I  think  I'll  have  to  go  down 
town  again." 

"Wait  a  moment,"  his  wife  cried,  hastening  out, 
Eva  following  her.  He  turned  back  before  they 
reached  the  foot  of  the  stairs,  and  had  resumed  his 
anxious  walk  when  they  entered  the  parlor. 

"Why,  what  can  you  be  thinking  about,  James?" 
his  wife  asked. 

"Thinking   about   going   down   town.     I   must 

go." 

"Not  tonight?    Why,  it's  going  to  rain." 


OLD  EBENEZER  185 

"Doesn't  make  any  difference  if  it  rains  bearded 
pitchforks,  I  must  go." 

His  wife  took  him  by  the  arm:  "James>  you  are 
keeping  something  from  me — something  has  hap 
pened." 

"No,  nothing  has  happened.  A  friend  of  mine 
has  a  project  on  foot.  I  am  interested  in  it,  and  I 
want  to  advise  him  not  to  go  ahead  with  it." 

"But  he  couldn't  go  ahead  with  it  tonight,"  Eva 
spoke  up. 

"Yes  he  can.  You  don't  know  how  rash  he  is; 
he's  got  no  head  at  all  when  it  comes  to  such  mat 
ters.  Let  me  get  my  umbrella." 

"James,"  said  his  wife,  looking  into  his  eyes, 
"don't  deceive  us,  tell  us  what  it  is." 

"What  noise  was  that?"  he  cried,  leaning  toward 
the  window.  "I  heard  something.  Gracious!"  he 
exclaimed,  as  the  doorbell  rang. 

Mr.  Menifee,  the  old  minister,  was  shown  in. 
"Ah,  good  evening,"  McElwin  cried,  starting  tow 
ard  him,  but  then  remembering  his  dignity  he  said : 
"You  are  always  welcome.  Sit  down." 

The  old  gentleman  bowed  to  the  ladies  and  took 
the  easy  chair  which  the  banker  shoved  toward 


186  OLD  EBENEZER 

him.  McElwin  turned  to  the  window  and  stood 
there,  looking  out,  listening,  with  no  ear  for  the 
solicitous  common-places  concerning  the  health  of 
his  household,  indulged  by  the  old  gentleman.  He 
glanced  at  the  clock  on  the  mantle,  and  was  sur 
prised  to  find  that  the  hour  was  no  later.  He 
turned  to  the  preacher. 

"You  can  do  me  a  service,  Mr.  Menifee;  you 
can  quiet  the  fears  of  my  wife  and  daughter  while 
I  go  down  town.  I  have  a  most  important  matter 
of  business  on  hand  but  they  don't  want  me  to  go. 
"Why,"  he  added,  with  a  dry  laugh,  "what  is  it 
to  go  down  town  at  half  past  nine?" 

"What,  is  it  that  late?"  the  old  gentleman  spoke 
up.  "Why,  I  am  getting  to  be  a  late  prowler.  But 
if  you  have  an  important  matter  to  attend  to,  surely 
you  ought  to  do  it." 

"I  rarely  ever  go  down  town  at  night,"  said  the 
banker;  "that  is  the  reason  of  their  uneasiness. 
Yes,  the  only  cause,  I  assure  you." 

He  passed  out  into  the  hall,  his  wife  following 
him.  He  took  an  umbrella  from  the  rack,  and  pre 
paring  to  hoist  it,  stepped  out  upon  the  veranda. 
His  wife  spoke  to  him  and  he  started  as  if  he  had 


OLD  EBENEZER  187 

not  noticed  her.     "James,"  she  said,  "something  is 
wrong  and  you  are  deceiving  me." 

"Nothing  at  all,  my  dear,"  he  replied,  hoisting 
the  umbrella.  "The  truth  is,  I  want  to  see  Sawyer." 

"In  relation  to  Mr.  Lyman?"  she  asked,  putting 
her  hand  on  his  arm  to  detain  him. 

"Well,  yes,  indirectly.  The  truth  is,  I  author 
ized  Zeb  to  offer  him  a  sum  of  money  to  go  away 
— quite  too  much  I  am  sure — and  I  want  to  ask 
him  to  withdraw  the  offer.  I  can't  afford  to  invest 
that  much  ready  money  at  present,  I  really  cannot." 

"If  you  have  been  afraid  that  he  will  accept  the 
offer—" 

"What,"  he  said,  closing  the  umbrella  and  look 
ing  at  her,  "what  do  you  know  about  it?" 

"I  know,  or  at  least  I  believe,  that  he  is  not  a 
man  to  be  bribed, — to  be  turned  from  his  purpose." 

"His  purpose.    What  is  his  purpose?" 

"To  claim  his  wife." 

"Lucy,  whatever  you  may  be  unreasonable 
enough  to  think,  don't  talk  that  way  to  me.  He 
may  claim  her  as  his  wife  and  may  force  his  claim, 
but  it  will  be  after  I  am  dead.  I  don't  like  the  fel 
low  personally.  He  is  impudent;  hr  i?  an  anarchist, 


188  OLD  EBENEZER 

There  now,"  he  added,  hoisting  the  umbrella,  "go 
back  and  don't  worry  about  me." 

He  stepped  out  upon  the  walk,  and  she  stood 
in  the  door  until  he  had  passed  into  the  lane, 
into  the  heavy  darkness  of  the  trees.  When  she 
returned  to  the  parlor  the  minister  was  preparing 
to  take  his  leave. 

"My  mission  in  coming  might  have  been  dis 
charged  in  a  moment,"  he  said;  "but  seeing  that 
your  husband  was  worried  I  did  not  like  to  bring 
it  up  in  his  presence.  Young  Henry  Bostic  is  soon 
to  preach  over  at  Mt.  Zion.  I  know  that  in  this 
family  a  prejudice  is  felt  against  him,  but  he  is 
deeply  in  earnest  and  I  feel  that  it  is  your  Christian 
duty,  madam,  to  give  him  on  that  occasion  the  en 
couragement  of  your  presence.  He  believes  that  he 
is  inspired  to  preach  the  Word,  and  who,  indeed,  shall 
say  that  he  is  not?  I  have  talked  to  him  frequently 
of  late,  and  I  am  convinced  that  toward  this  house 
hold  he  bears  no  malice." 

"Eva  and  I  will  go,"  Mrs.  McElwin  replied 
promptly. 

"Nobly  said,  madam,"  the  minister  rejoined, 
looking  upon  her  with  an  eye  that  had  swept  over 


OLD  EBENEZER  189 

many  a  field  of  duty.  "I  did  not  believe  that  I 
should  appeal  to  you  in  vain.  We  have  but  a  little 
while  here,"  he  went  on,  his  white  head  shaking. 
'The  future  has  seemed  far,  but  the  past  is  short, 
and  soon  the  time  comes  when  we  must  go.  They 
may  dispute  our  creed  and  pick  flaws  in  our  doc 
trine,  but  they  acknowledge  the  mighty  truth  of 
death.  There  is  nothing  in  life  worth  living  for — " 

"Except  love,"  said  the  girl  standing  beside  him. 

He  put  his  tremulous  hand  upon  her  head,  a 
withered  leaf  upon  a  flower  in  bloom.  "Yes,  my 
child,  love  which  is  God's  spirit  come  down  to 
earth." 

He  bade  them  good  night,  and  for  a  long  time 
they  sat  in  silence. 

"Sometimes,"  said  the  mother,  "I  feel  a  sudden 
strength,  and  I  look  up  in  surprise  and  see  that  it 
has  come  from  you." 

"I  believe  that  I  am  developing,"  the  daughter 
replied.    "But  I  shall  be  strong  if  he  asks  me  to  go  j 
with  him." 

"What  do  you  mean,  my  dear?" 

"I  mean  that  if  he  were  to  ask  me,  I  would  be 
strong  enough  to  go." 


190  OLD  EBENEZER 

"And  leave  me?" 

"Leave  the  world — everything!" 

"Why,  my  child,  how  can  you  talk  so?  Really, 
you  alarm  me.  You  scarcely  know  the  man;  you 
have  met  him  but  a  few  times,  and  then  your  talks 
with  him  were  brief." 

"I  don't  attempt  to  explain,  mother.  I  simply 
know." 

"But  you  must  wait  and  see.  It  may  be  possible 
that  he  has  no  such  feeling  toward  you;  it  may  be 
that  he  has  not  permitted  himself  to  aspire— 

"Oh,"  she  cried,  moving  impatiently;  "it  is  al 
most  sacrilege  to  talk  that  way.  Who  am  I  that  he 
should  aspire  to  me?  What  have  I  done?  What 
can  I  do?  Nothing.  I  haven't  a  single  talent, 
hardly  an  accomplishment.  Oh,  I  know  that  I  was 
intoxicated  with  vanity,  but  that  has  worn  off.  I 
am  simply  a  country  girl,  that's  all." 

"You  are  a  girl  bewitched,"  said  the  mother, 
sadly. 


CHAPTER  XX. 
AFRAID  IN  THE  DARK. 


McElwin  hastened  along  the  hard  and  slippery 
path  that  ran  on  a  ridge  at  the  side  of  the  road. 
Sometimes  a  low-bending  bough  raked  across  his 
umbrella,  and  once  he  was  made  to  start  by  a  cold 
slap  in  his  face,  dealt  by  the  broad  leaf  of  a  shrub 
that  leaned  and  swayed  above  a  garden  fence.  He 
came  upon  a  wooden  bridge  over  a  small  stream 
and  halted  to  breathe,  for  his  walk  beneath  the  dark 
trees  had  been  rapid  and  nervous.  Frogs  were 
croaking  in  the  sluggish  water.  A  cradle  in  a 
hovel  bumped  upon  the  uneven  floor,  and  he  re 
membered  to  have  heard  from  his  father  that  in  the 
pioneer  days  he  had  been  many  a  time  rocked  to 
sleep  in  a  sugar  trough.  The  lights  of  the  town, 
the  few  that  he  could  see,  looked  red  and  angry. 
He  remembered  a  newspaper  account  of  the  way 
laying  and  robbing  of  a  prominent  citizen.  It  was 
so  easy  for  a  tramp  to  knock  down  an  unsuspecting 
man.  Tramp  and  robber  were  interchangeable 

(191) 


192  OLD   EBENEZER 

terms  with  him,  and  often,  on  a  cold  night,  when  he 
had  seen  the  wanderer's  fire,  kindled  close  to  the 
railway  track,  he  had  wondered  why  such  license 
had  been  allowed  in  a  law-abiding  community.  He 
moved  off  with  a  brisk  step,  for  he  fancied  that  he 
heard  something  under  the  bridge.  There  was 
many  a  worse  man  than  McElwin,  but  it  is  doubt 
ful  whether  a  ranker  coward  had  ever  been  born  to 
see  the  light  of  day,  or  to  shy  at  an  odd  shape  in  the 
dark.  He  felt  an  easy-breathing  sense  of  relief 
when  he  reached  the  main  street,  and  in  the  light 
of  the  tavern  lamp,  hung  out  in  front,  he  was  bold; 
his  head  went  up  and  his  heels  fell  with  measured 
firmness  upon  the  bricks.  He  halted  in  front  of  his 
bank,  as  his  own  clock  was  striking  ten,  and  looked 
up  at  Lyman's  window.  The  room  was  dim,  but 
the  other  part  of  the  floor,  the  long  room,  was 
bright.  He  was  afraid  to  show  anxiety  concerning 
either  Sawyer  or  Lyman,  nor  did  he  deem  it  advis 
able  to  call  at  old  Jasper's  house.  For  what  pur 
pose  had  he  come,  he  then  asked  himself.  He 
must  do  something  to  pay  himself  for  coming,  to 
make  himself  feel  that  his  time  had  not  been  utterly 
thrown  away.  In  his  arrangement  of  economy, 


OLD  EBENEZER  193 

every  piece  of  time  must  show  either  an  actual  or  a 
possible  result.  To  go  even  in  the  direction  of  old 
Jasper's  house  was  out  of  the  question,  for  if  any 
one  should  see  him  he  would  surely  be  associated 
with  the  White  Caps.  Why  would  it  not  be  a  wise 
move  to  find  out  whether  or  not  Lyman  was  in  the 
printing-office,  and  to  warn  him.  He  could  easily 
put  his  call  upon  the  ground  of  an  argument 
against  the  impulsive  man's  rashness  in  burning 
the  check.  No,  that  would  invite  the  ill-will  and 
perhaps  the  outright  enmity  of  Sawyer.  He  could 
not  afford  to  lose  Sawyer ;  he  needed  his  energy  for 
the  future  and  the  use  of  his  money  for  the  present. 
But  he  could  bind  Lyman  to  secrecy.  "I  wonder," 
he  mused,  "that  I  should  have  any  faith  in  his  word, 
but  I  have.  Confound  him,  he  has  upset  us  all. 
But  I  ought  to  warn  him.  It  is  terrible  to  be  taken 
out  and  whipped  upon  the  bare  back.  I'll  make 
him  promise  and  then  I'll  tell  him." 

He  crossed  the  street  and  began  slowly  to  climb 
the  stairs.  He  reached  the  first  landing  and  halted. 
"It  won't  do,"  he  said.  "Sawyer  might  find  it  out 
and  that  would  ruin  everything.  I  advised  against 
it;  I  have  done  my  best  to  prevent  it,  and  it  is  now 


194  OLD  EBENEZER 

no  concern  of  mine.  I  will  go  home.  I  have  been 
foolish." 

He  turned  about  and  walked  rapidly  down  the 
stairs.  When  he  reached  home  his  daughter  had 
gone  to  bed,  but  his  wife  was  sitting  up,  waiting  for 
him.  She  met  him  at  the  door  and  looked  at  him 
searchingly,  as  he  halted  in  the  light  of  the  hall 
lamp  to  put  the  umbrella  in  the  rack. 

"Did  you  see  him?"  she  asked,  not  in  the  best  of 
humor,  now  that  the  worry  was  practically  over. 

"Sawyer?  No,  he's  out  in  the  country,  so  a  man 
told  me.  I  have  decided  to  dismiss  the  matter  from 
my  mind  or  to  think  about  it  as  little  as  possible.  It 
isn't  so  very  late  yet,"  he  added,  looking  at  his 
watch.  He  found  his  slippers  beside  his  chair 
when  he  entered  the  sitting-room,  but  he  shoved 
them  away  with  his  foot. 

"Did  Mr.  Menifee  have  anything  of  interest  to 
say?"  he  asked,  leaning  with  his  elbows  on  the 
table. 

"It  may  not  interest  you,  but  it  has  been  put  to 
Eva  and  me  as  a  matter  of  duty,  that  we  ought  to 
go  out  to  Mt.  Zion  to  hear  Henry  Bostic  preach." 

McElwin  grunted:     "Menifee  may  put  it  as  a 


OLD  EBENEZER  195 

matter  of  duty,  but  I  don't.  Fortunately  I  have 
other  duties  that  are  of  much  more  importance.  I 
will  not  go." 

"He  didn't  seem  to  expect  that  you  would,"  she 
replied. 

"I  hope  not.  He  may  have  reason  to  believe  me 
worldly  in  some  things,  but  I  trust  he  has  never 
found  me  ridiculous." 

"Would  it  be  ridiculous  to  hear  that  young  man 
preach?" 

"For  me  to  hear  him?     Decidedly.     The  true 
gospel  has  not  been  handed  over  to  the  keeping  of 
the  malicious  idiot,  I  hope." 
"I  believe  he  is  sincere." 

"Sincere?  Of  course  he  is.  So  is  a  wasp  when 
it  stings  you." 

She  laughed  in  her  dignified  way,  her  good  hu 
mor  having  suddenly  returned;  and  he  looked  up 
with  a  smile,  pleased  with  himself.  They  sat  for  a 
time,  talking  of  other  matters,  and  he  went  to  bed 
humming  the  defineless  tune  of  self-satisfaction. 
But  late  in  the  night  Mrs.  McElwin  awoke  and 
found  him  standing  at  the  window,  listening. 
"What  is  it,  dear?"  she  asked. 


196  OLD  EBENEZER 

"Nothing." 

"Then  why  are  you  standing  there?'* 

"I  thought  I  heard  something." 

"In  the  house?"  she  asked,  rising  up  with  sudden 
alarm. 

"No.  Over  in  town,  or  rather  over  by  the  rail 
road  track.  I  noticed  some  tramp-fires  along 
there." 

"Oh,  well,  don't  worry.  The  watchman  will 
look  after  them." 

"Hush,"  he  said,  leaning  from  the  window. 
"There  it  is  again." 

"I  don't  hear  anything,"  she  declared.  "Why, 
it's  only  a  negro  singing." 

"So  it  is,"  he  said,  "I  thought  it  was  someone 
yelling  over  in  town.  Are  you  sure  that  it  was  a 
negro  singing?" 

"Oh,  I  don't  know  whether  he  is  a  negro  or  not, 
but  it  is  someone  singing.  But  what  if  it  is  some 
one  yelling  over  in  town?  It's  nothing  unusual,  I 
am  sure.  I  have  heard  them  yell  at  all  times  of  the 
night.  I  believe  it  is  someone  singing,"  he  finally 
said,  turning  from  the  window. 


CHAPTER  XXL 
WITH  OLD  JASPER. 

Early  in  the  evening  old  Jasper  Staggs  received  a 
visit  from  Zeb  Sawyer,  and  inasmuch  as  the  social 
exchanges  between  them  had  never  been  particu 
larly  marked,  the  old  man  was  not  a  little  surprised. 

"Well,  you  see,  it  aint  altogether  on  your  account 
that  I've  come,"  said  Sawyer  with  a  weak  laugh, 
seeing  that  in  the  old  man's  astonishment  there 
lurked  an  unfavorable  suspicion.  "Mother — and 
you  know  she's  getting  along — took  it  into  her 
head  today  that  nothing  would  do  her  so  much 
good  as  a  visit  from  your  wife  and  Miss  Annie. 
And  she  says  she'd  like  mighty  well  to  have  you." 

"Well,"  said  old  Jasper,  "the  women  folks  are 
out  there  in  the  dinin'  room  a  fussin'  around,  and  I 
reckon  they'll  take  the  time  to  answer  for  them 
selves,  jest  as  I  am  agoin'  to  answer  for  myself, 
when  I  say  that  I'm  obleeged  to  you,  but  I  can't 
come.  I'm  talkin'  for  myself,  recollect,"  he  added, 
with  emphasis,  nodding  his  head  and  running  his 

(197) 


198  OLD  EBENEZER 

fingers  through  his  rim  of  gray  beard.  "Yes,  sir; 
for  myself,  and  for  myself  only." 

"But  I  guess  Aunt  Tobithy  and  Miss  Annie  will 
go,  won't  they?" 

"I  have  said  my  say,  and  it  was  for  myself  only, 
but  if  you  want  to  know  anything  consarnin'  the 
other  members  of  this  house,  just  step  right  out 
there  where  they  are  tinkerin'  with  the  dishes,  and 
ask  them." 

Sawyer  went  into  the  dining-room.  There  was 
a  hush  of  the  rattle  of  dishes  and  knives,  and  then 
Sawyer  came  back  and  said  they  were  kind  enough 
to  go.  "I  am  going  to  stay  here  with  you,"  Saw 
yer  remarked. 

"All  right,"  the  old  man  replied. 

"And  I  believe  it  will  be  a  little  more  than  all 
right  when  I  tell  you  of  something.  The  other  day 
I  was  at  an  old  house  in  the  country,  and  an  old 
fellow  that  lives  there  took  me  down  into  the  cellar 
to  show  me  a  new  patent  churn  that  he  was  work 
ing  on.  Well,  I  didn't  care  anything  about  the 
churn,  you  know,  not  having  much  to  do  with 
cows,  but  I  looked  at  the  thing  like  I  was  interested, 
just  to  please  him.  And  while  I  was  looking  about 


OLD  EBENEZER  199 

I  saw  a  small  barrel,  with  dried  moss  on  it,  and  I 
asked  him  about  it,  and  he  said  it  was  a  whisky  bar 
rel  that  was  hid  out  all  during  the  war.  This  made 
me  open  my  eyes,  I  tell  you;  but  as  quiet  as  I  could 
I  asked  him  if  there  was  any  of  the  liquor  left.  He 
said  he  had  about  a  gallon  left,  and  I  told  him  I'd 
give  him  twenty  dollars  for  a  quart  of  it,  and  I  did, 
right  then  and  there ;  and  if  I  haven't  got  that  bottle 
right  with  me  now,  you  may  crack  my  head  like  a 
hickory  nut." 

By  this  time  old  Jasper's  jaw  had  fallen,  and  now 
he  sat,  leaning  forward  with  his  mouth  wide  open. 
"Zeby,"  he  said,  and  his  voice  sounded  as  if  he  had 
been  taken  with  a  sudden  hoarseness.  "I  reckon 
I  am  about  as  fond  of  a  joke  and  a  prank  as  any 
man  that  ever  crossed  Goose  Creek — and  some 
great  jokers  came  along  there  in  the  early  days — 
but  there  was  things  too  sacred  for  them  to  joke 
about.  You  know  what  I  said,  Zeby?" 

"I  know  all  about  them  old  fellows,"  Zeb  said, 
with  a  laugh.  "I  have  heard  my  granddad  talk 
about  them.  In  fact,  he  was  one  of  them,  and  I 
get  it  from  him  not  to  joke  on  some  things.  I've 
that  bottle  of  liquor  in  my  pocket  this  very  minute.7' 


200  OLD  EBENEZER 

The  old  man  stepped  to  the  door.  "Tobithy ;  oh, 
Tpbithy." 

"Well,"  his  wife  answered  from  the  dining-room. 

"Zeb  is  powerful  anxious  for  you  to  go  over  to 
his  mother's,  as  the  old  lady  is  wanting  to  see  you, 
but  I  don't  see  how  you  can  get  off." 

Sawyer  looked  at  him  in  surprise'.  The  old  man 
made  him  a  sign  to  be  quiet. 

A  dish  clattered  and  his  wife  exclaimed:  "You 
don't  see  how  I  can  go.  Oh,  no,  but  you  see  how 
I  can  stick  here  day  after  day,  killing  myself  with 
work.  I  am  going." 

The  old  man  grinned  and  sat  down.  "I  was 
afraid  she  would  back  out,"  he  said,  "and  I  wanted 
to  clinch  the  thing.  Jest  let  me  tell  her  that  I  am 
afraid  she  can't  do  a  thing  and  then  it  would  take  a 
good  deal  more  high  water  than  we've  had  for  a 
year  or  two  to  keep  her  from  doing  it." 

His  wife  and  Annie  came  into  the  room  and  he 
put  on  a  sober  air.  "I  don't  think  you  can  stay 
late,  for  it  looks  like  rain,"  he  said. 

"I'm  going  to  stay  until  I  get  ready  to  come 
back,  and  it  can  rain  brick  bats  for  all  I  care,"  she 
replied;  and  the  old  man,  knowing  that  everything 


OLD   EBENEZER  201 

was  fixed,  leaned  back  with  a  long  breath  of  con 
tentment.  The  women  soon  took  their  departure; 
the  old  man  watched  them  until  they  passed 
through  a  gate  that  opened  out  upon  the  sidewalk, 
then  he  looked  at  Sawyer  and  said: 

"The  bottle ;  I  believe  you  'lowed  you  had  it  with 
you." 

"Right  here,"  Sawyer  replied,  tapping  a  side 
pocket  of  his  coat. 

The  old  man  flinched  like  a  horse  prodded  in  a 
tender  place.  "Don't  do  that  again,  you  might 
break  it,"  he  said.  "There  ain't  nothing  easier  to 
break  than  a  bottle  full  of  old  liquor.  Let  me  see/' 
he  added,  with  an  air  of  deep  meditation.  "It  has 
been  about  five  months  since  I  renewed  my  youth; 
it  was  the  night  Turner  was  elected  Sheriff.  And  I 
want  to  tell  you,  Zeby,  that  to  a  man  who  has  seen 
fun  and  recollects  it,  that's  a  good  while.  We'll 
jest  wait  a  minute  before  we  open  the  ceremonies. 
You  can  never  tell  when  a  woman's  clean  gone. 
The  chances  are  that  she  may  forget  something  and 
come  bobbin'  back  at  any  minute.  And  it  might 
take  me  quite  a  while  to  explain.  There  are  some 
things  you  can  explain  to  a  woman  and  some  things 


202  OLD  EBENEZER 

you  can't,  and  one  of  the  things  you  can't,  is  why 
you  ought  to  take  liquor  when  she  don't  feel  like 
takin'  any  herself.  Well,  I  reckon  their  start  was 
sure  enough,"  he  said,  looking  through  the  win 
dow.  "Now,  jest  step  out  here  in  the  dinin'  room 
and  make  yourself  at  home,  while  I  pump  a  pail  of 
fresh  water." 

Old  Jasper  put  a  pitcher  of  water  on  the  dining 
room  table.  Sawyer  sat  with  his  arms  resting  on 
the  board,  and  with  a  flask  held  affectionately  in 
his  hands.  Old  Jasper  cleared  his  throat,  and 
drawing  up  a  large  rocking  chair,  sat  down.  He 
said,  as  he  looked  at  the  flask,  that  he  had  not  felt 
well  of  late,  and  that  whisky  would  do  him  good. 
Sawyer  would  make  no  apology  for  drinking  such 
liquor.  Good  whisky  was  to  him  its  own  apology. 
Life  at  best  was  short,  with  many  a  worry,  and  he 
did  not  see  how  a  so-called  moral  code  should  cen 
sure  a  man  for  throwing  off  his  troubles  once  in  a 
while.  The  old  man  needed  no  persuasion  to  lead 
him  on.  And  in  the  dim  light  of  a  lamp,  placed 
upon  the  corner  of  an  old  red  side-board,  they  sat 
glowing  with  merriment.  Sawyer  drank  sparingly, 
but  Jasper  declared  that  it  took  about  three  fingers 


OLD  EBENEZER  203 

at  a  time  to  do  him  any  good,  and  into  the  declara 
tion  the  action  was  dove-tailed.  He  told  a  long 
and  rambling  story,  relating  to  a  time  when  he  had 
driven  a  stage  coach;  a  tickling  recollection 
touched  him  and  he  leaned  back  and  laughed  till 
the  tears  rolled  down  through  the  time-gullies  in 
his  face.  Sawyer  snapped  his  watch.  The  old 
man  told  him  to  let  time  take  care  of  itself. 

"That's  what  I'm  doing,"  said  Sawyer.  "By  the 
way,  I've  an  idea  that  I'd  like  to  go  squirrel  hunt 
ing.  But  I  broke  my  gun  the  other  day  and  sent 
it  to  the  shop.  Haven't  got  an  old  gun  around, 
have  you?" 

"There's  an  old  muzzle-loader  in  there  behind  the 
door,  standing  there  ready  to  break  the  leg  of  a 
dog  that  comes  over  to  howl  in  the  garden." 

"Can't  shoot  a  pistol  much,  can  you?" 

"Ain't  much  of  a  hand  with  a  pistol,  Zeby." 

"Haven't  got  one,  have  you?" 

"Had  one,  but  I  believe  Lyman  took  it  up  to  his 
room.  There's  a  good  man,  even  if  you  have 
a  cause  not  to  like  him;  and  when  I  got  well  ac 
quainted  with  him  I  jest  'lowed  that  nothin*  on  the 
place  was  too  good  for  him,  so  we  brushed  up  the 


204  OLD  EBENEZER 

room  right  over  the  sittin'  room,  and  there  he  sets 
late  in  the  night  and  does  his  work,  and  sometimes, 
'way  late,  I  hear  him  walkin'  up  and  down,  arm  in 
arm  with  an  idea  that  he's  •  tryin'  to  get  better 
acquainted  with,  he  says." 

"Is  he  up  there  now?" 

"No.  He  ain't  come  in  yet.  Sometimes  he 
don't  come  till  late.  He's  got  fewer  regular  hours 
about  him  than  any  man  I  ever  seen.  He  jest  takes 
everything  by  fits  and  starts,  and  he's  mighty  funny 
about  some  things — he  don't  let  a  man  know  what 
he's  doin'  at  all;  never  comes  down  and  reads  to  a 
body  the  things  that  he  writes — might  write  a 
hymn  to  sing  at  the  camp-meeting,  and  he  never 
would  read  it  to  you." 

The  old  man  drifted  into  another  stage  coach 
reminiscence  and  Sawyer  sat  in  an  attitude  of  pre 
tended  interest,  but  he  heard  nothing,  so  deep- 
buried  was  he  within  himself.  He  had  not  much 
time  to  spare,  and  there  was  one  thing  that  must 
be  done;  it  was  absolutely  essential  that  he  must  go 
to  Lyman's  room  and  get  the  pistol.  He  poured 
out  more  whisky  for  the  old  man.  Jasper  contin 
ued  to  talk,  but  the  memories  of  the  past  did  not 


OLD  EBENEZER  205 

arise  to  tickle  him ;  they  made  him  sad.     He  wept 
over  a  girl,  his  first  love,  a  grave  more  than  forty 
years  old.     He  sobbed  over  his  boy,  killed  in  the 
army.    His  chin  sank  upon  his  breast.     Sawyer  got 
up  quickly  and  began  to  search  for  the  gun.     He 
found  it  and  hid  it  under  a  bed.     Then  he  turned 
his  attention  to  Lyman's   room.     The  apartment 
was  approached  by  an  encased  stairway,  leading 
from  the  sitting-room.     He  lifted  the  latch  and  lis 
tened,    the    old    man    was    snoring;    the    young 
man  felt  like  a  thief;  but  that  was  to  be  expected, 
and  therefore  did  not  alarm  his  conscience.     The 
stairs  creaked,  still  he  did  not  pause.     The  door  of 
Lyman's  room,  to  the  left  at  the  head  of  the  stairs, 
was    not    locked.     Sawyer    struck    a    match    and 
stepped  inside.  He  lighted  a  lamp  and  looked  about 
the  room.     On  the  table  lay  sheets  of  paper,  some 
of  them  covered  with  close,  nervous  writing,  and 
upon   others   were   scratches,    half-formed   words, 
the  tracks  of  a  mind  wandering  in  a  bog.     He 
pulled  open  the  table  drawer  and  eagerly  grabbed 
up  a  pistol.     Then  he  turned  out  the  light  and 
walked  hastily  down  the  stairs.     Old  Jasper  was 
still  asleep,  his  head  on  one  side,  like  an  old  hawk 


206  OLD  EBENEZER 

worn  out  with  a  long  fight.  Sawyer  put  the  pistol 
on  the  side-board,  behind  a  tin  tray  standing  on 
edge,  and  then  sat  down  to  wait.  It  was  nearly 
time  for  the  "boys"  to  come.  He  heard  a  key  in 
the  front  door  lock,  and  he  put  out  the  light.  The 
door  opened  and  closed,  the  latch  of  the  stair  door 
clicked;  he  heard  Lyman  going  up  to  his  room. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 
THE  "BOOSY." 

Lyman  had  been  helping  Warren  with  the  work 
of  putting  the  paper  to  press,  and  he  was  tired,  but 
when  he  had  lighted  the  lamp  he  drew  the  writing 
paper  toward  him,  and  took  up  a  pen,  turning  it 
between  his  fingers,  as  if  waiting  for  a  word,  but 
it  did  not  come,  and  he  sat  there  musing.  His 
heart  was  heavy,  though  not  with  a  sadness,  but 
with  an  overweight  of  gentleness,  a  consciousness 
that  he  stood  as  a  protector  to  bide  the  time  of  the 
lover's  coming.  He  was  proud,  but  had  no  van 
ity.  He  knew  that  he  could  win  friendship,  for  in 
friendship  a  strong  and  rugged  quality  was  a  factor, 
but  he  did  not  realize  that  the  same  rugged  quality 
appealed  to  a  deeper  affection.  In  his  work  he  saw 
the  character  of  woman,  and  he  could  fancy  her  ca 
pricious  enough  to  give  her  heart  to  the  most  awk 
ward  of  men,  but  when  he  turned  this  light  upon 
himself,  so  many  blemishes  were  brought  out  that 
he  stepped  back  from  the  glaring  revelation.  He 

(207) 


208  OLD  EBENEZER 

believed  that  in  his  peculiar  position  Eva  gave  him 
the  affection  that  a  daughter  might  give  a  father, 
and  he  was  determined  that  this  charming  relation 
ship  should  not  be  undone  by  the  appearance,  on 
his  part,  of  a  selfish  love;  and  in  his  resolve  he  was 
strong,  but  in  cold  dread  he  looked  forward  to  the 
time  when  she  should  come  with  a  new  light  in  her 
eyes  and  ask  him  to  release  her.    Suddenly  a  noise 
came  from  below,  the  tramping  of  feet  upon  the 
veranda.     Could  it  be  a  surprise  party  at  so  late 
an  hour?    He  listened.     The  door  was  opened,  but 
there  was  no  sound  of  greetings,  no  laughter.     The 
visitors  were  evidently  trying  to  soften  their  foot- 
weight,  but  the  house  shook  under  their  uneven 
tread.     He  heard  the  click  of  the  stair-door  latch; 
the  stairs  groaned.     He  remembered  what  Sawyer 
had  said,  and  caution  prompted  him  to  lock  the 
door.     The  next  moment  there  came  a  gentle  tap, 
but  he  knew  that  the  gentleness  was  assumed,  for 
he  heard  .suppressed  breathing  at  the  head  of  the 
stairs. 

"Who's  there?"  he  asked. 
"Open  the  door." 
"But  who's  there?" 


OLD  EBENEZER  209 

"The  good  of  the  community." 
"Well,  I  don't  know  that  I  have  any  business 
with  you  at  this  time  of  night,  Mr.  Good-of-the- 
Community." 

"But  we  have  business  with  you.  Open  the  door 
or  we'll  break  it  down." 

Lyman  stepped  back  and  snatched  open  the 
table  drawer.  He  straightened  up  and  thought  for 
a  moment.  They  were  throwing  themselves 
against  the  door.  He  seized  a  light  chair  and  stood 
near  the  door.  Word  to  hurry  up  came  from  be 
low.  The  door  creaked. 

"Once  more,  are  you  going  to  open  it?" 
"Wait  a  moment/  said  Lyman.     "I  don't  know 
who  you  are,  but  I  can  guess  at  your  business. 
You  are  violating  the  law,  you  are  house-breakers 
and  I  wish  to  tell  you — : 

Crash  went  the  door.  And  crash  went  the  chair. 
The  opening  was  narrow.  The  first  man  fell  back. 
The  second  man  staggered.  The  third  man  hesi 
tated,  then  sprang  upon  Lyman,  giving  him  no  time 
to  strike.  Across  the  floor  they  struggled,  the  old 
house  shaking.  They  strove  to  choke  each  other, 
they  rolled  upon  the  floor.  Lyman  got  hold  of  the 


210  OLD  EBENEZER 

fellow's  throat.  His  fingers  were  like  steel  clamps. 
The  White-Cap  gurgled.  Lyman  got  up,  dragged 
him  to  the  door  and  tumbled  him  down  the  stairs. 
Just  then  there  came  shrieks  from  below.  The  two 
women  had  returned.  The  White  Caps  were  tread 
ing  one  upon  another  in  their  hurry  to  get  out.  Ly 
man'  with  a  chair  post  in  his  hand,  followed  them. 
They  ran  through  the  sitting-room,  a  flutter  of 
white  in  the  dark.  Lyman  went  into  the  dining- 
room,  whence  the  women  had  run.  The  lamp  had 
been  relighted,  and  there  sat  old  Jasper,  fast 
asleep. 

"There's  nothing  to  be  alarmed  about,"  said  Ly 
man,  as  the  women  with  their  hands  in  the  air,  ran 
to  him.  "A  few  White  Caps  out  of  employment 
wanted  work,  and  got  it.  There,  now,  don't  take 
on.  Sit  down,  Aunt  Tobithy.  Oh,  old  Uncle  Jas 
per  is  all  right." 

"He  is  drunk,"  said  the  old  woman,  anger  driv 
ing  away  her  fright.  'They  have  made  him  drunk 
and  he  would  sit  there  and  sleep  and  let  them  burn 
the  house  over  his  head.  Oh,  was  there  ever  any 
thing  so  disgraceful!  Jasper!  Jasper!"  she  shook 
him. 


OLD  EBENEZER  211 

"Horse  that  would  trot — trot — "  the  old  man 
muttered. 

"Oh,  you  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  yourself. 
Take  hold  of  him,  Annie,  and  let's  put  him  to  bed." 

"I'll  take  care  of  him,"  said  Lyman.  They  put 
him  to  bed  and  then  sat  down.  "I  don't  under 
stand  it,"  the  old  woman  remarked.  "Did  they 
hurt  you?" 

"No,  they  didn't  get  at  me.  They  were  at  a  dis 
advantage,  out  on  the  narrow  landing,  while  I  had 
plenty  of  room  to  swing  around  in.  I  must  have 
hurt  two  of  them  pretty  badly." 

"What  do  you  think  of  it?"  Annie  inquired. 

"Sawyer,"  said  Lyman. 

The  old  woman  made  a  noise  that  sounded  like  a 
cluck.  "And  he  fixed  it  so  we  were  to  go  over  to 
his  mother's,"  she  said.  "Oh,  it's  perfectly  clear. 
And  he  brought  whisky  here  and  got  Jasper  drunk. 
I  do  think  this  is  the  worst  community  the  Lord 
ever  saw.  Talk  about  churches  and  school-houses, 
when  such  things  are  allowed  to  go  on." 

"What  are  you  going  to  do  about  it,  Mr.  Ly 
man?"  Annie  asked.  "Are  you  going  to  have 
them  arrested?" 


212  OLD  EBENEZER 

"They  ought  to  be  hanged,"  the  old  lady  spoke 
up.  "Oh,  I  knew  something  would  happen  the 
moment  I  put  my  foot  off  the  place.  I  never  did 
know  it  to  fail.  And  I  might  have  told  this  morn 
ing  that  something  wrong  was  goin'  to  take  place, 
for  I  had  to  try  twice  or  three  times  before  I  could 
pick  up  anything  when  I  stooped  for  it,  and  I  saw 
a  hen  out  in  the  yard  trying  to  crow.  But,  Mr. 
Lyman,"  she  added,  reflectively,  "I  do  hope  you 
will  think  twice  before  you  go  to  law  about  it.  I 
don't  tell  you  not  to,  mind  you,  for  I  am  the  last 
one  in  the  world  to  tell  a  person  not  to  have  the 
law  enforced,  but  if  you  could  see  that  old  woman — 
Zeb's  mother — you  wouldn't  want  to  do  a  thing  to 
bend  her  down  with  grief;  it  makes  no  difference 
how  many  laws  it  would  enforce." 

"And  besides  what  would  the  law  do?"  Annie 
broke  in,  to  strengthen  her  mother's  position. 
"You  might  have  him  arrested  and  all  that,  and  a 
trial  and  a  scandal,  too,  but  after  all,  it  wouldn't 
amount  to  anything.  I  should  think  that  his  con 
science  would  punish  him  enough.  And  you 
couldn't  have  the  others  arrested  without  bringing 
him  into  it." 


OLD  EBENEZER  213 

"You  don't  need  to  argue  any  longer,"  Lyman 
replied.  "The  merest  reference  to  his  old  mother 
settles  it  with  me.  The  law  part  would  be  a 
farce  anyway.  But  let  me  remind  you  that  it  is 
quite  a  serious  thing  when  an  American  citizen  is 
ordered  to  leave  his  home  at  the  whim  of  a  scoun 
drel." 

He  bade  them  good  night  and  went  up  to  his 
room.  The  door  lay  upon  the  floor  and  fragments 
of  the  cast-iron  lock  were  scattered  about.  The 
image  of  Sawyer  arose  before  him,  as  he  had  ap 
peared  in  the  office,  and  so  hateful  and  disturbing 
was  the  picture,  that  he  arose  and  bathed  his  face, 
as  if  to  wash  out  the  vision.  He  heard  a  man's 
voice  below  and  he  stepped  to  the  head  of  the  stairs 
and  listened.  He  recognized  the  voice  of  the 
town  marshal.  Already  the  law  had  begun  its 
feeble  farce.  The  marshal  came  up  the  stairs  and 
looked  around,  at  the  door  and  the  fragments  of 
the  lock.  He  took  up  a  bit  of  iron  and  put  it  into 
his  pocket,  as  if  he  had  found  a  ton's  weight  of 
evidence. 

"I'll  take  this  along,"  he  said  gravely. 

"Help  yourself,"  said  Lyman. 


214  OLD  EBENEZER 

"Yes,  for  little  things  count,"  the  marshal  re 
plied  with  the  air  of  a  great  and  mysterious  de 
tective.  "And  now,"  he  added,  "have  you  any  idea 
or  any  suspicion  as  to  who  led  this  gang?" 

Lyman  had  sat  down  and  was  crossed-legged, 
swinging  one  foot.  "Oh,"  he  answered  carelessly, 
"I  guess  you  know  who  it  is.  However,  we  will 
let  the  subject  drop.  I  don't  wish  to  discuss  it." 

"But,  my  dear  sir,  the  law — " 

Lyman  held  up  his  hand.  "Let  us  hear  nothing 
more  about  the  law,"  said  he.  "Good  night." 

The  marshal  tramped  down  the  stairs  and  Lyman 
went  to  bed  to  forget  the  mob  and  to  dream  of  the 
rippling  creek  and  a  voice  that  was  softer  and 
sweeter  than  the  echo  of  a  flute.  At  early  morning 
there  came  a  rapping  on  the  stairway,  to  sum 
mon  him  to  breakfast.  Old  Jasper,  with  his  hot 
hands  in  his  pockets  and  with  a  sick  expression 
of  countenance  was  doddering  about  the  sitting 
room. 

"Ah,  Lord,"  he  said,  when  Lyman  stepped  down 
upon  the  floor.  "Wait  a  minute.  Let  me  shut 
this  door.  The  smell  of  the  kitchen  gig— gig— gags 
me.  Lyman,  I  do  reckon  I  ought  to  take  a  rusty 


'    .       -f 
OLD  EBENEZER  215 

knife  and  cut  my  infamous  old  throat.  Yes,  I  do. 
I  deserve  it.  And  all  because  I  wanted  to  renew 
my  youth.  I  know  I've  said  it  before,  but  I  want 
to  say  right  now  that  I'll  never  touch  another  drop 
of  the  stuff  as  long  as  I  live,  I  don't  care  if  Noah 
had  it  with  him  in  the  Ark.  But  it  is  a  fact  that  I 
sat  here  asleep  while  a  mob  was  in  my  house?" 

"Yes,"  said  Lyman,  "you  were  asleep  when  I 
came  down  stairs." 

"Well,  sir,  it's  news  to  me.  And  it  shows  what 
licker  will  fetch  a  man  to.  It  will  take  me  some 
little  time  to  explain  it  to  Tobithy." 

"I  suppose  it  will,"  said  Lyman,  smiling  at  him. 
"Oh,  it's  a  fact.  Women  fight  against  reason, 
you  know,  as  long  as  they  can.  Yes,  sir,  it  will 
take  me  a  month  to  convince  her  that  I  wa'n't 
drunk.  I  admit  that  I  drank  a  few  drinks,  small 
ones,  not  enough  to  hurt  me  if  I  had  been  right  at 
myself,  but  I  was  tired  and  sleepy  before  I  touched 
a  drop.  Lyman,  I  wish  you  would  explain  it  to 
her.  She's  got  a  good  deal  of  confidence  in  you — 
a  good  deal  more  than  she  has  in  me.  I  wish  you 
would  tell  her  that  I  wasn't  drunk." 


216  OLD  EBENEZER 

"I  think  the  best  plan,  Uncle  Jasper,  would  be  to 
say  nothing  about  it." 
"All  right,  we'll  let  it  drop  then.     But  I'll  have  to 

reason  with  her,  and,  as  I  said  before,  it  is  goin'  to 

k 
take  some  time  to  explain.     Go  in  to  breakfast  and 

let  me  sit  down  here  in  my  misery.  Say,  if  you 
could  hint  that  I  am  awfully  sorry  I'd  be  obliged  to 
you ;  and  if  you  could  give  them  to  understand  that 
you  don't  think  I'm  goin'  to  live  long,  it  would  be 
a  big  favor." 

When  Lyman  stepped  out  upon  the  street  he  was 
soon  made  to  feel  that  the  White  Cap  affair  had  be 
come  common  property.  Some  of  the  villagers 
were  inclined  to  treat  it  as  a  great  joke,  but  the 
graver  ones  looked  upon  it  as  a  serious  infraction 
of  the  law.  Sawyer's  name  was  not  mentioned,  but 
everyone  appeared  to  understand  that  he  was  the 
leader. 

Warren  was  standing  at  the  foot  of  the  office 
stairs  as  Lyman  came  up.  They  smiled  at  each 
other. 

"Well,"  said  Warren,  "have  you  got  another 
piece  of  news  to  suppress?" 


OLD  EBENEZER  217 

"I  am  afraid  so,"  Lyman  answered,  as  he  started 
up  the  stairs. 

"You  are  afraid  so?"  said  Warren,  tramping  be 
side  him.  "How  much  longer  is  this  suppression 
act  to  remain  in  force?  Confound  it,  you  help 
make  three-fourths  of  the  news  in  the  neighbor 
hood  and  then  won't  print  it  because  it  concerns 
you.  All  news  concerns  somebody,  you  must  un 
derstand." 

They  went  into  the  editorial  room.  Lyman  took 
up  his  pipe  and  Warren  stood  looking  at  him.  Ly 
man  sat  down  and  lighted  his  pipe.  "My  boy," 
said  he,  "it  may  seem  hard,  but  I  have  a  reason  for 
keeping  this  thing  out  of  print.  It  is  not  for  my 
self,  for  my  own  sense  of  delicacy  does  not  protest 
against  it,  but  it  would  wound  an  old  woman,  and 
we  cant'  afford  to  do  that.  We  might  say  some 
thing  about  the  mob,  but  it  won't  do  to  mention 
names." 

"You  mean  Mrs.  Sawyer?" 

"Yes;  it  would  hurt  her." 

"Lyman,  you  are  the  best  writer  I  ever  saw,  but 
you  were  not  intended  for  a  newspaper  man." 

"I  know  that,  my  boy.     If  I  thought  we  could 


218  OLD   EBENEZER 

sell  ten  thousand  papers  I  wouldn't  print  a  thing  to 
hurt  an  old  woman." 

"Oh,  I  don't  want  to  hurt  an  old  woman  or  a 
young  one  either,"  said  Warren,  "but  I  look  at 
the  principle  of  the  thing.  Somebody's  hurt  every 
time  a  paper  comes  from  the  press,  and  if  every 
body  was  as  tender-hearted  as  you  are,  there  would 
be  no  newspapers  after  awhile,  and  then  where 
would  we  be?" 

"We  would  be  slower,  less  wise,  but  in  many  in 
stances  more  respectable,"  Lyman  replied.  He 
leaned  back  in  his  chair,  slowly  puffing  his  pipe. 

"From  the  high-grade  point  of  view  I  reckon 
you're  right,"  said  Warren,  raking  up  the  news 
papers  on  the  table,  "but  we  can't  all  live  on  the 
high  grades.  By  the  way,"  he  added  with  a  laugh,  "I 
walked  over  to  the  express  office  this  morning  and 
took  my  paper  out,  as  if  it  were  a  matter  of  course. 
The  fellow  looked  at  me  and  sighed,  and  I  thought 
he  was  going  to  say  something  about  the  numerous 
times  I  had  bled  under  the  hob-nailed  heel  of  his 
company.  But  he  didn't ;  he  asked  me  to  send  him 
the  paper,  and  he  paid  for  it  right  there.  Oh, 
things  are  getting  pretty  bright  when  trusts  and 


OLD   EBENEZER  219 

corporations  begin  to  bid  for  your  influence.  But 
what  are  you  going  to  do  with  that  fellow  Sawyer?" 
he  asked,  becoming  grave,  or  rather,  more  serious, 
for  gravity  could  hardly  spread  over  his  lightsome 
face. 

"I  don't  know,"  Lyman  answered. 

"But  you  can't  afford  to  keep  on  letting  him  hurt 
you;  you'll  have  to  hunt  him  to  shut  him  off." 

"Yes,  I'll  have  to  do  something,  but  I  don't  know 
what  it  will  be.  I  have  met  a  good  many  mean 
men — mean  fellows  at  a  saw  mill,  and  I  thought 
that  a  mean  mill  man  was  about  the  meanest — but 
Sawyer  strikes  off  somewhat  in  advance  of  any 
meanness  I  ever  encountered." 

"Well,  don't  you  get  mad?  Don't  you  feel  like 
you  want  to  take  a  gun  and  shoot  him?" 

"Yes,  I  have  all  sorts  of  feelings  with  regard  to 
him;  and  sometimes  when  I  awake  at  night  it  is  a 
good  thing  he  is  not  within  reach.  But  I'll  try  to 
worry  along  with  him.  I  don't  expect  to  stay  here 
very  much  longer." 

Warren  caught  his  breath,  as  if  he  had  stuck  a 
splinter  into  his  finger,  and  his  face  pinched  up 
with  sharp  anxiety.  "I  have  been  expecting  to 


220  OLD  EBENEZER 

hear  that,"  he  said,  smoothing  out  the  papers  on 
the  table.  "I  have  been  looking  for  it,  and  I  don't 
blame  you  in  the  least,  though  I  hate  to  give  you  up. 
But,"  he  added,  brightening,  "you  have  given  me 
a  start  and  they  can't  take  it  away  from  me.  I'm 
all  right  and  I  know  you  are.  And  the  first  thing 
you  know,  I'm  going  to  get  married  and  settle 
down.  I  am  about  half  way  in  love  with  a  girl  now. 
She  put  her  hand  on  a  high  seat  and  jumped  right 
up  into  a  wagon.  And  when  she  batted  her  eyes, 
I  wondered  that  they  didn't  crack  like  a  whip,  they 
were  so  sharp.  I  said  to  myself  right  then  that  I 
was  about  half  way  in  love  with  her,  and  I  watched 
her  as  she  sat  there,  eating  an  apple;  and  when  she 
drove  away  I  went  and  got  an  apple  and  ate  it, 
and  I  never  tasted  an  apple  before,  I  tell  you.  It 
must  be  a  great  girl  that  can  give  flavor  to  fruit." 

"Who  is  she?"  Lyman  asked,  his  eyes  brighten 
ing  with  amusement. 

"I  don't  know  her  name.  She  drove  in  with  her 
father— I  reckon  he  was  her  father— and  I  didn't 
find  out  her  name  or  anything  about  her.  I  went 
into  the  store  where  the  man  bought  a  jug  of  mo 
lasses  and  asked  the  clerk  in  there  if  he  knew  the 


OLD  EBENEZER  221 

man,  and  he  said  he  didn't.  But  I'll  find  out  and 
will  marry  her  if  she  has  no  particular  objections. 
A  woman  who  can  jump  like  that  and  then  flavor 
an  apple  can  catch  me  any  day." 

"You  don't  know  but  that  she  may  be  already 
married,"  said  Lyman. 

"Oh,  no.  We  must  not  suppose  that.  Why, 
that  would  kill  everything.  Of  course  the  fellow 
with  her  might  be  her  husband,  but  it  would  be 
nonsense  to  presume  so  when,  with  the  same  de 
gree  of  reason,  I  can  presume  he  is  not.  If  you've 
got  to  do  any  presuming,  always  presume  for  the 
b^st." 

Lyman  threw  himself  back  and  laughed. 
"Neither  the  ancients  nor  the  moderns  ever 
evolved  from  life  any  better  philosophy  than  that," 
he  declared.  "Why,  of  course  she  is  not  married, 
nor  shall  she  be  until  you  marry  her.  It  was  in 
tended  that  she  should  flavor  your  life,  even  as  she 
flavored  the  apple.  Here  comes  someone.  Why, 
it's  McElwin.  Step  out  into  the  other  room  a  mo 
ment,  please.  I  believe  he  wants  to  see  me  alone." 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 
AFTER  AN  ANXIOUS  NIGHT. 

McElwin  arose  after  a  night  of  cat-naps.  He 
was  up  long  before  breakfast.  He  stood  at  the 
gate,  looking  up  and  down  the  road;  and  when  a 
peddler  came  along  the  banker  hailed  him  and 
asked  if  there  were  any  news  in  the  town.  The  fel 
low  held  up  a  chicken.  McElwin  shook  his  head 
and  repeated  the  inquiry.  The  fellow  put  the 
chicken  back  into  his  cart  and  held  up  a  duck, 
whereupon  McElwin  ordered  him  to  move  on.  At 
the  breakfast  table  he  sat  with  an  unseeing  stare. 
The  clouds  were  gone,  the  day  was  bright  and  the 
air  came  sweet  from  the  garden.  His  daughter 
spoke  to  him  and  he  broke  his  stare  and  looked 
at  her. 

"Did  you  speak  to  me?"  he  asked. 

"I  said  I  was  afraid  you  were  not  well  this  morn 
ing." 

"Oh,  yes,  quite  well,  I  thank  you.  But  I  didn't 
sleep  very  much." 


OLD  EBENEZER  223 

"You  might  say  you  didn't  sleep  at  all,"  his  wife 
spoke  up ;  "and  I  don't  think  you  ought  to  go  down 
town  today." 

This  preposterous  suggestion  made  him  nervous. 
"Gracious  alive,  don't  make  an  invalid  of  me,"  he 
replied.  "I  am  all  right,  but  an  over-concern  about, 
my  health  will  make  me  sick.  Did  you  ever  notice 
that  when  the  newspapers  begin  to  discuss  a  man's 
health  he  dies  pretty  soon?  It's  a  fact.  One  news 
paper  comes  out  and  says  that  Mr.  Jones  is  not 
looking  well.  Another  paper  declares  that  Mr. 
Jones  is  looking  better  than  he  has  looked  for 
years.  Then  all  the  papers  have  their  fling  and  the 
first  thing  you  know  Mr.  Jones  is  dead." 

Eva  laughed;  the  idea  struck  her  as  being  so 
humorously  true,  and  Mrs.  McElwin  smiled,  but  it 
was  the  sad  smile  of  protest.  "James,"  she  said, 
"you  are  a  man  of  wonderful  judgment,  but  some 
times  you  persist  in  looking  at  life  through  stained 
glass.  Something  is  wrong  with  you  and  you 
ought  to  see  a  doctor  at  once." 

"There  you  go,"  he  cried,  winking  at  his  daugh 
ter.  "Call  in  a  doctor  and  that  would  settle  it. 
The  newspapers  would  then  have  their  fling  and 


224  OLD  EBENEZER 

that  would  fix  me.  I  am  worried,  I  acknowledge 
that,  but  it  won't  last  long.  Who  is  that  at  the 
gate?"  he  broke  off,  looking  through  the  window. 
"He's  moving  off  now.  I  thought  at  first  that  it 
was  old  Jasper  Staggs." 

It  was  his  custom  to  read  a  newspaper  in  the  li 
brary  after  breakfast,  but  this  morning  he  did  not 
tarry  a  moment,  but  went  straightway  toward  the 
bank.  At  the  wooden  bridge  he  met  Caruthers, 
and  halted  to  speak  to  him.  It  was  the  first  time 
that  the  lawyer  had  ever  received  the  great  man's 
attention,  but  knowing  the  cause  of  the  interest  now 
manifested,  he  was  determined  to  dally  with  it  as 
a  sort  of  revenge. 

"Any  news,  Mr.  Caruthers?" 

"Oh,  you  know  my  name.  I  am  much  flattered, 
I  assure  you.  Of  course  I  have  known  you  for 
many  years,  but  I  didn't  think  you  remembered 
me." 

McElwin  stood  blinking  at  the  sun.  "I  think  I 
have  spoken  to  you  on  an  average  of  once  a  day 
for  the  last  fifteen  years,"  said  he.  "I  am  not  a 
gusher,  however.  I  have  not  seen  a  newspaper 
this  morning  and  ask  you  if  there  is  any  news." 


OLD  EBENEZER  225 

"Oh,  I  suppose  4here  must  be,"  Caruthers  re 
plied,  leaning  back  against  the  rail  of  the  bridge. 
"I  haven't  seen  a  newspaper  either  and  I  don't 
know  what  may  have  happened  in  the  outside 
world." 

"Any  news  about  town?" 

"No,  nothing  unusual,  I  believe.  A  dog  was 
found  dead  on  the  public  square,  I  understand;  and 
I  hear  that  old  Mart  Henley's  son  has  been  sus 
pected  of  stealing  a  ham  from  Avery's  meat  house. 
Let  me  see."  He  passed  his  hand  over  his  brow, 
as  if  in  deep  meditation.  "Maxey's  cow  tramped 
down  the  roses  in  Donalson's  yard  and  Thompson's 
hogs,  covered  with  mud,  have  rubbed  themselves 
against  Tillman's  white  fence." 

"Such  occurrences  are  of  no  interest  to  me,"  said 
the  banker. 

"No,  nor  to  me  either.  Well,  I'll  bid  you  good 
morning.  Wait  a  moment,"  he  added.  "There 
was  something  else  on  my  mind.  Oh,  did  you 
hear  of  the  White  Caps?" 

"No!"  McElwin  said  with  a  gasp.  "What  about 
them?" 

"Well,  they  went  last  night  to  have  some  fun 
with  Sam  Lyman." 


226  OLD  EBENEZER 

"Ah,  and  they  took  him  out  and  whipped  him?" 

"Well,  hardly.  He  wore  out  a  chair  over  them, 
and  about  three  miles  from  town,  I  understand, that 
old  Doc  Mason  has  been  kept  pretty  busy  since 
midnight  sewing  up  their  heads.  Lyman  didn't 
tell  me,  but  I  got  it  pretty  straight  that  somebody 
stole  the  pistol  out  of  his  room;  and  if  it  hadn't 
been  for  that  the  undertaker  would  have  had  no 
cause  to  complain  of  the  dullness  of  the  season." 

"You  don't  tell  me!" 

"Yes,  I  am  inclined  to  think  I  do.  Old  Jasper 
had  a  visitor  early  in  the  evening;  the  women  went 
out  calling,  and  the  visitor  got  the  old  man  drunk." 

"And  it  is  suspected  that  the  visitor  had  some 
thing  to  do  with  the  subsequent  call  of  the  White 
Caps?" 

"Well,  it  is  not  only  suspected,  but  pretty  well 
established.  I  suppose  you  could  guess  the  name 
of  the  visitor." 

"How  could  I,  sir?" 

"Well,  I  have  heard  it  said  that  the  visitor  never 
makes  an  investment  without  consulting  you,  and 
it  is  thought  more  than  likely  that  he  consulted  you 
on  the  occasion  of  this  bad  investment." 


OLD  EBENEZER  227 

Caruthers  leered  and  the  banker  winced.  "As 
yet  I  am  at  a  loss  as  to  who  the  visitor  might  have 
been,"  said  McElwin;  "but  no  matter  who,  I  wish 
to  say  that  he  did  not  consult  me.  I  have  never 
been  known  to  violate  the  law,  sir." 

"Oh,  no  one  would  suspect  you  of  that,  Mr. 
McElwin.  We  all  know  that  you  never  break  the 
law,  but  we  don't  know  that  you  are  not  sometimes 
aware  that  the  law  is  going  to  be  broken.  Good 
morning." 

"Wait  a  moment,  sir.  Do  you  mean  to  tell  me 
that  I  am  suspected  of  complicity  in  this  infamous 
outrage?" 

"No,  I  don't  mean  to  tell  you  that.  Neither  do 
I  mean  to  say  that  you  would  be  wrong  in  doing 
so.  You  have  had  cause.  Lyman's  stubbornness 
is  quite  enough  to  rasp  a  saint.  I  couldn't  stand 
it;  and  between  me  and  you,  I  wish  they  had  lashed 
him  till  he  would  have  craved  the  privilege  of  going 
away."  i 

"Wait  just  one  more  moment,  Mr.  Caruthers. 
Is  what  you  have  told  me  in  reality  suspected  by 
the  people  or  did  you  evolve  it  out  of  your  own 
richness  of  observation?" 


228  OLD  EBENEZER 

Caruthers  bowed  his  head  under  the  outpour  of 
this  compliment.  "It  is  not  public  talk,"  he  ad 
mitted. 

"Ah,  thank  you.  Drop  in  at  the  bank  some 
time  and  see  me,  sir.  Good  morning." 

Warren  stepped  out  of  the  room,  merely  nodding 
to  McElwin  as  he  passed.  Lyman  got  up,  handed 
McElwin  a  chair,  and  without  speaking,  sat  down 
again.  McElwin  stood  with  his  hands  on  the  back 
of  the  chair,  looking  at  Lyman,  and  evidently  em 
barrassed  as  to  what  he  ought  to  say.  "Beautiful 
morning,"  said  Lyman,  seeing  his  embarrassment 
and  feeling  that  it  was  his  duty  as  host  to  help  him 
out  of  it. 

"Yes,  very  bright  after  the  rain." 
"That's  a  fact;  it  did  rain  last  night." 
"Mr  Lyman,  I  heard  something  this  morning 
that  has  grieved  me  very  much." 

"Oh,  about  the  White  Caps.  Sit  down,  won't 
you?" 

McElwin  sat  down.  "Yes,  the  White  Caps." 
He  was  silent  for  a  moment  and  then  he  continued: 
"The  intercourse  between  vou  and  me  has  been  far 


OLD  EBENEZER  229 

from  friendly.  I  do  not  deny  that  I  should  like  to 
see  you  leave  this  place,  never  to  return;  I  acknowl 
edge  that  I  would  bribe  you  to  go,  but  I  would  not 
give  countenance  to  a  mob  that  would  force  you  to 
leave." 

Lyman  looked  at  him  with  a  cool  smile.  "Do 
you  mean  to  tell  me,  Mr.  McElwin,  that  Sawyer 
did  not  speak  to  you  of  his  .intention  to  take  me 
out  as  if  I  were  a  thief  or  a  wife-beater — " 

"Stop,  sir!"  McElwin  commanded,  holding  up 
his  hand.  "I  forbid  you  to — " 

"Forbid  is  rather  a  strong  word.  Don't  you 
think  that  request  would  be  better?" 

"Well,"  said  McElwin,  softening,  "we  will  say 
request.  As  I  tell  you,  your  presence  in  this  com 
munity  is  distasteful  to  me,  and  your  farcical  mar 
riage  stands  directly  opposed  to  my  plans.  But  I 
would  not  violate  the  law  and  commit  a  misde 
meanor  to  drive  you  off.  You  have  reasons  for  be 
lieving  that  Mr.  Sawyer — " 

"Yes,  he  was  the  organizer." 

"But  not  with  my  sanction,  sir." 

"No?  But  perhaps  not  without  your  knowl- 
edge." 

"Sir!" 


230  OLD  EBENEZER 

"Keep  your  seat.  Now  I  am  going  to  tell  you 
what  I  believe.  I  believe  that  Sawyer  came  to 
you,  after  I  had  burned  the  check,  and  told  you 
what  he  intended  to  do." 

"He  did,  and  I  told  him  not  to  do  it." 

"Ah.  But  did  you  go  to  the  law  and  enter  a  pro 
test  against  an  outrage  which  you  knew  he  was  go 
ing  to  commit?  Did  you  send  me  a  word  of  warn 
ing  or  did  you  quietly  wait  in  the  hope  that  the  re 
sult  might  rid  you  of  me?" 

"Mr.  Lyman,  I  am  going  to  tell  you  the  absolute 
truth.  I  advised  against  it,  and  after  he  was  gone, 
I  went  out  to  look  for  him,  but  he  had  driven  down 
into  the  country  to — " 

"To  organize  his  mob,"  Lyman  suggested. 

"Well,  yes,  we  will  say  that  he  had  gone  for  that 
purpose.  And  at  night  I  came  down  town  in  the 
rain  to  see  if  I  could  not  find  him,  and  when  I  failed 
in  this,  I  thought  that  I  would  come  up  here  to 
warn  you."  He  hesitated,  with  a  slight  cough. 

"But  you  didn't  come." 

"No,  not  all  the  way.  I  halted  on  the  stairs  and 
turned  back.  I  felt  that  I — "  He  hesitated. 

"You  felt  that  you  could  not  afford  to  antagonize 
Mr.  Sawyer." 


OLD  EBENEZER  231 

McElwin  coughed.  "It  was  not  exactly  that, 
Mr.  Lyman.  But  I  did  think  that  it  was  meddling 
with  something  that — that  did  not  concern  me." 

"Didn't  concern  you?  I  thought  you  were 
deeply  concerned,  enough  at  least  to  feel  yourself 
warranted  in  attempting  to  buy  me,  to  hire  me  to 
leave." 

"You  don't  quite  understand,  Mr.  Lyman." 

"Oh,  yes  I  do.  The  trouble  with  you  is  that  I 
understand  too  well.  Go  ahead  with  your  absolute 
truth." 

McElwin  cleared  his  husky  throat.  "I  went 
home,  sir,  and  passed  a  most  anxious  night;  I  suf 
fered,  sir,  far  more  than  you  did." 

"No  doubt  of  that.     I  enjoyed  myself." 

"Mr.  Lyman,  will  you  please  not  make  a  joke  of 
this  affair." 

"Oh,  I  won't  make  a  joke  of  it.  It  will  be  ear 
nest  enough  by  the  time  it  is  over  with.  I  am  in 
formed  that  Mrs.  Sawyer  is  very  old  and  that  to  in 
troduce  her  son's  name  in  connection  with  the 
White  Caps  would  greatly  distress  her,  and  I  have 
resolved  not  to  do  this.  But  there  are  punish 
ments,  moral  lessons  to  be  served  out,  and  I  think 
it  well  to  begin  with  you." 


232  OLD  EBENEZER 

"Mr.  Lyman,  we  are  not  friends,  but  would  you 
ruin  me  in  the  estimation  of  the  public?" 

"No,  I  will  say  nothing  to  the  public.  I  will 
tell  your  daughter." 

McElwin  started.  His  mind  had  been  so  di 
rectly  fixed  upon  the  public  that  he  had  not 
thought  of  his  home.  Being  the  master  there  he 
could  command  respect,  and  it  was  on  the  tip  of  his 
tongue  now  to  say  that  his  daughter  would  not  be 
lieve  Lyman,  but,  as  if  a  bitter  taste  had  suddenly 
arisen  in  his  mouth,  he  felt  that  this  man's  word 
out-weighed  his  own.  He  had  a  strong  hope  that 
when  his  daughter  should  be  set  free  and  left  to 
choose  at  will,  her  judgment  would  finally  settle 
upon  Sawyer.  But  he  knew  that  should  she  be 
convinced  that  he  father  had  counciled  him  to  en 
gage  the  services  of  lawless  men  or  had  even  con 
nived  at  the  brutal  procedure — he  knew  that,  con 
vinced  of  this,  she  would  turn  in  scorn  upon  Sawyer 
and,  in  a  moment,  wreck  the  plans  that  it  had  taken 
years  to  build. 

"Mr.  Lyman,"  he  said,  "I  admit  that  I  am  largely 
to  blame,  and  I  now  throw  myself  upon  your 
mercy,  sir.  Please  don't  tell  my,  daughter." 


OLD  EBENEZER  233 

All  his  dignity  and  arrogance  had  vanished, 
and  the  chair  creaked  under  him.  His  brown 
beard,  usually  so  neatly  trimmed,  looked  ragged 
now,  and  his  eyes,  which  Lyman  had  thought  were 
full  of  sharp  and  cutting  inquiry,  now  looked  dull 
and  questionless.  "I  throw  myself  upon  your 
mercy,"  he  repeated. 

"Then,  sir,  you  knock  my  props  from  under  me/1 
Lyman  replied.  "I  am  not  equipped  with  that 
firmness  which  men  call  justice.  Nature  some 
times  makes  sport  of  a  man  by  giving  him  a  heart. 
And  what  does  it  mean?  It  means  that  he  shall 
suffer  at  the  hands  of  other  men,  and  that  when  his 
hour  for  revenge  has  come,  his  over-grown  heart 
rises  up  and  commands  him  to  be  merciful.  Mc- 
Elwin,  I  ought  to  publish  you — I  ought  to  tell  your 
wife  and  daughter  that  you  have  conspired  with 
ruffians  to  have  me  whipped  from  the  town,  but  I 
will  not.  You  may  go  now." 

The  banker's  arrogance  flew  back  to  him.  "You 
may  go"  were  words  that  pierced  him  like  a  three- 
pronged  fork,  but  he  controlled  himself,  for  now 
his  judgment  was  stronger  than  his  dignity.  He 
arose  and  stepped  up  close  to  Lyman.  "I  am  un- 


234  OLD  EBENEZER 

der  deep  obligations  to  you/'  he  said.  "You  are  a 
kind  and  generous  man." 

"Why  don't  you  say  that  you  are  thankful  to 
find  me  a  fool?" 

McElwin  took  no  notice  of  this  remark.  "And  I 
hope  that  I  may  be  able  to  do  something  for  you/' 
he  said.  Still  he  stood  there,  as  if  he  had  not 
struck  the  proper  note.  "Do  something  for  you. 
And  if  you  need — need  money,  I  shall  be  glad  to 
let  you  have  it." 

"Oh,  you  couldn't  get  away  without  mentioning 
your  god-essence,  could  you?  Good  day." 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 
AT  MT.  ZION. 

On  a  Sunday  morning,  Lyman  and  Warren  hired 
a  light  spring  wagon  and  drove  out  through  the 
green  and  romantic  country  that  lay  stretched  and 
tumbled  along  the  Mt.  Zion  road.  The  great 
clover-fields,  now  red  with  bloom,  looked  like  a 
mighty  spreading  of  strawberry -land  ready  for  the 
pickers;  and  a  red  bird,  arising  from  the  ground, 
might  have  been  a  bloom  of  a  berry  suddenly  en 
dowed  with  wings.  The  air  breathed  delicious 
laziness,  and  when  the  horse  stopped  midway  and 
knee- deep  in  a  rivulet,  he  stood  with  his  mouth  in 
the  water  pretending  to  swallow,  stealing  the  en 
joyment  of  the  cool  current  against  his  legs.  The 
two  men  enjoyed  the  old  rascal's  trick,  agreeing  to 
let  him  stand  there  as  long  as  he  practiced  the  du 
plicity  of  keeping  his  mouth  in  the  stream.  Min 
nows  nibbled  at  his  lips,  and  he  lifted  his  head,  but 
observing  the  men,  who  leaned  out  to  look  at  him, 
he  again  immersed  his  mouth  and  pretended  to 

(235) 


236  OLD  EBENEZER 

swallow.  At  last,  as  if  ashamed  of  himself,  he 
pulled  out,  trotting  briskly  in  the  sun,  but  hanging 
back  in  the  shade.  Down  in  the  low  places  bright- 
winged  flies  had  come  in  swarms  to  hum  their 
tunes,  and  on  the  high  ridges  where  the  thin  grass 
was  wilting,  the  gaunt  rabbit  sat  in  the  sun.  Driv 
ing  along  the  low,  smooth  and  sandy  margin  of  a 
stream,  where  the  thick  bushes  bore  a  bloom  that 
looked  like  a  long  caterpillar,  they  reached  an 
iron  spring,  deep  red,  a  running  wound  on  the  face 
of  the  earth.  They  came  to  an  old  water  mill,  long 
ago  fallen  into  decay  and  halted  to  listen  to  the 
water  pouring  over  the  ruined  dam.  They  turned 
into  a  broader  road,  and  now  saw  numerous  ve 
hicles,  bright  with  calico  and  dun  with  home-spun, 
all  moving  in  one  direction,  toward  the  old  Mt. 
Zion  meeting  house  on  a  hill.  To  view  one  of 
those  places  of  worship  is  to  gaze  upon  religious 
history.  We  look  at  the  great  trees,  the  rocks 
worn  smooth,  the  house  squatting  with  age,  and  we 
no  longer  regard  our  country  as  new.  In  Mt.  Zion 
there  were  loop-holes  where  men  had  stood  to 
shoot  Indians,  while  their  wives  were  muttering  a 
prayer.  The  old  oak  benches,  made  of  split  slabs, 


OLD  EBENEZER  237 

were  almost  as  hard  as  iron.  A  slab,  called  the 
altar,  but  known  as  the  mourners'  bench,  had 
caught  the  tears  of  many  an  innocent  maiden  and 
roistering  youth. 

Lyman  unhitched  the  horse  and  led  him  down  a 
glade  to  feed  him  in  the  cool  shadow  of  a  chestnut 
tree,  and  while  he  was  spreading  the  oats  Warren 
came  running  down  to  him. 

"Lyman,  she's  here,"  he  said.  "It's  a  fact  and 
I'll  swear  it.  Yes,  sir,  she's  here,  and  I  was  never 
more  surprised  in  my  life." 

"I  am  not  surprised,"  Lyman  replied.  "I  ex 
pected  her." 

"The  deuce  you  did!    Then  you  know  her." 

"Know  her.     Of  course  I  do." 

"Then  why  didn't  you  tell  me?" 

"Tell  you?    What  do  you  mean?" 

"Why,  I  mean  that  you  ought  to  have  told  me. 
What's  her  name?" 

"Look  here,  have  you  gone  crazy?" 

"No,  but  you  have.  How  the  deuce  did  you 
know  she  would  be  here?  All  right,  but  she  won't 
get  away  from  me  so  easy  this  time.  I  see  the  old 


238 


OLD  EBENEZER 


man's  with  her,  and  the  idea  of  supposing  that  he 
could  have  been  her  husband  is  preposterous." 

"Oh,"  Lyman  laughed,  "I  thought  you  meant 
my — meant  Eva  McElwin." 

"No,  I  mean  the  girl  that  flavored  the  apple. 
Come  up  and  I'll  introduce  you  to  her." 
"But  have  you  met  her?" 
"I  met  her  in  the  path  a  minute  ago." 
"But  have  you  been  introduced  to  her?" 
"No,  but  I'll  fix  that  all  right.     Come  on." 
Lyman  was  laughing,  but  Warren  was  deeply  in 
earnest.     They  went  up  the  hill  toward  the  church. 
Everybody  was  outside  in  the  shade,  the  preacher 
not  having  arrived.     "There  she  is,"  Warren  whis 
pered;  "that  girl  standing  with  that  man  near  the 
door.     Stand  here  till  I  go  and  fix  it." 

He  hastened  toward  the  man,  and  not  the  slight 
est  abashed,  walked  up  to  him.  He  said  something; 
the  man  spoke  to  the  girl  and  Lyman  saw  Warren 
lift  his  hat.  They  stood  for  a  few  moments,  talk 
ing,  and  then  they  came  out  toward  Lyman,  the  girl 
blushing  and  hanging  back,  and  Warren  gently 
urging  her. 

"Miss  Nancy  Pitt,"  said  Warren,  approaching,  "I 


OLD  EBENEZER  239 

have  the  honor  to  present  Mr.  Lyman,  one  of  the 
best  writers  in  the  country,  although  he  is  not  cut 
out  for  a  newspaper  man." 

Miss  Pitt  blushed  and  smiled  and  said  that  she 
was  glad  to  meet  him.  She  looked  like  a  spirit  of 
the  woods,  on  a  day  when  red  buds  and  white  blos 
soms  are  mingled ;  she  was  not  handsome,  but  strik 
ing,  fresh,  and  with  an  early  morning  brightness  in 
her  eyes;  she  was  an  untrained  athlete  of  the  farm, 
ready  to  put  a  back-log  into  the  yawning  fire-place 
or  to  choke  a  greedy  calf  off  from  its  mother,  She 
had  no  manners  and  was  shy ;  and,  without  know 
ing  how  to  play  with  a  man's  affection,  was  coy. 
Lyman  looked  into  her  eyes  and  thought  of  the 
bluish  pink  of  the  turnip.  She  blushed  again  and 
said:  "I  reckon  we'd  have  rain  if  it  was 
cloudy,  but  it  ain't.  Where's  pa?"  And  then 
looking  round  she  called:  "Come  on,  pap." 

"CominY'  the  old  man  replied,  walking  with  a 
limp  in  his  Sunday  shoes.  He  did  not  wait  for  an 
introduction  to  Lyman,  but  shook  hands  with  him, 
glanced  upward  and  said:  "Mighty  bright  day." 

"Just  as  fresh  as  if  this  were  the  first  one,"  Ly 
man  replied. 


240  OLD  EBENEZER 

"Well,  sir,  I  hadn't  thought  of  that,  but  I  reckon 
you're  right."  His  daughter  reached  over  and 
brushed  a  measuring-worm  off  his  shoulder.  "Go 
ing  to  get  a  new  coat,"  she  said.  "Worm  measur 
ing  you." 

"Put  him  on  me,"  said  Lyman,  looking  about  as 
if  searching  for  the  worm. 

"Get  away,"  Warren  broke  in,  shoving  him  to 
one  side.  "I  want  him.  "Well,  let  him  go.  How 
far  do  you  live  from  here,  Mr.  Pitt?" 

"Well,  a  leetle  the  rise  of  three  mile  and  a  half,  at 
this  time  of  the  year,  but  when  the  weather  is  bad, 
the  road  stretches  powerful.  My  wife  wanted  to 
come  today  to  hear  the  new  preacher,  but  along 
come  some  folks  visitin*  from  over  the  creek,  with 
a  passul  of  haungry  children,  and  she  had  to  stay 
and  git  'em  a  bite  to  eat,  Her  doctrine  is  that  it's 
better  to  feed  the  haungry  than  to  eat,  even  if  the 
table  is  served  by  a  new  preacher.  Well,"  he  added, 
as  a  hymn  arose  within  the  church,  "they've  struck 
up  the  tune  of  sorrow  in  there  and  I  reckon  we'd 
better  go  in." 

Warren  walked  with  Nancy.  "What,  we  ain't 
going  in  the  same  door?"  she  said  as  they  ap- 
groached. 


OLD  EBENEZER  241 

"Yes,"  he  replied,  "and  I'm  going  to  sit  with  you 
during  the  sermon." 

"No,"  she  said,  drawing  back.  "That  won't  do. 
I  have  heard  that  in  town  the  women  and  the  men 
sit  together  in  church,  but  they  don't  out  here,  and 
if  I  did  I'd  never  hear  the  last  of  it." 

"All  right,  I  don't  want  to  mark  you  in  any  way, 
but  I  want  you  to  wait  for  me  when  you  come  out." 

Bostic  came  in.  His  face  was  grave,  and 
he  carried  the  timid  air  of  a  first  appearance  as 
he  walked  slowly  down  the  aisle.  The  men  mum 
bled,  the  women  whispered,  and  Lyman  heard  a 
girl  remark:  "He  ain't  so  mighty  good-looking." 
At  the  door,  there  was  a  rustle  of  strange  skirts,  and 
as  if  a  new.  note  had  been  introduced  into  an  old 
melody,  the  congregation  looked  around.  Lyman 
looked  too,  and  his  breast  grew  warm  with  the  new 
beating  of  his  heart.  Mrs.  McElwin  and  her 
daughter  entered  the  church.  The  preacher 
glanced  up  from  his  text  and  saw  them,  and  his 
eye  kindled.  He  gave  out  an  old  hymn  and  the 
congregation  arose.  The  air  was  vibrant  in  the 
unctuous  swell  of  sound.  The  spider  webs  hang 
ing  from  the  rafters  trembled;  the  woods  caught  up 


242  OLD  EBENEZER 

the  echo  and  bore  it  afar  through  the  timber-land, 
and  the  distant  leaves  caught  it  as  a  whisper  and 
hushed  it.  In  it  there  was  not  music,  not  the  har 
mony  that  seeks  the  approval  of  the  brain;  it  was  a 
chant  that  called  upon  the  heart  to  humble  itself  in 
the  sight  of  the  Lord  and  to  be  brave  in  the  pres 
ence  of  man,  the  tune  that  subdued  the  wilderness 
of  a  new  world,  a  tune  that  men  have  sung  before 
plunging  into  the  swallowing  fire  of  battle.  The 
city  is  ashamed  of  it,  laughs  at  it,  but,  far  away  in 
the  country,  it  is  still  the  war-cry  of  Jehovah. 

The  preacher  began  in  a  rambling  way,  missing 
the  thoughts  that  he  expected  to  find,  finding 
thoughts  that  surprised  him.  Sometimes  his  road 
was  rough,  and  he  clamored  over  rocks  and  fell 
into  gullies,  but  occasionally  he  struck  a  smooth 
path  and  then  he  ran  because  the  way  was  easy. 
After  a  time  he  forgot  to  be  impressive  and  then  he 
impressed.  He  filled  the  house  with  words,  like  a 
flight  of  pigeons,  and  on  their  backs  some  of  them 
caught  the  sunlight  that  streamed  through  the 
cracks  in  the  walls.  Lyman  was  reminded  of  one 
of  William  Wirt's  stories— -"The  Blind  Preacher"— 
the  man  who  in  a  ruinous  old  house  raised  his  hand 


OLD  EBENEZER  24$ 

and  cried:     "Socrates  died  like  a  philosopher,  but. 
Jesus  Christ  like  a  God." 

There  was  to  be  another  sermon  in  the  afternoon, 
by  an  old  man  who  plowed  for  a  living  and  who 
preached  without  pay,  and  Lyman  caught  himself 
wondering  whether  the  McElwins  would  remain  to 
hear  him.  Through  the  window  he  saw  a  light 
buggy  under  the  trees,  and  he  mused  that  they 
would  at  least  let  him  help  them  into  it.  He  was 
afraid  that  they  might  get  away,  and  he  was  ner 
vous  at  the  fear  that  slow-moving  persons,  halting 
in  the  aisle  to  talk  over  the  sermon,  might  obstruct 
his  path;  and  as  soon  as  the  benediction  was  pro 
nounced,  he  hastened  toward  the  rear  end  of  the 
house.  Eva  stepped  toward  him  and  frankly  held 
out  her  hand. 

"Mother,  this  is  Mr.  Lyman/'  she  said. 

Mrs.  McElwin  bowed,  resolved  to  be  cool  and 
dignified.  She  said  that  she  was  pleased  to  meet 
Mr.  Lyman,  which  statement  Mr.  Lyman  looked  » 
upon  as  a  polite  fib.  She  spoke  of  the  charm  of  the 
day  and  expressed  surprise  that  the  young  preacher 
had  done  so  well.  Lyman  asked  if  she  were  going 
to  remain  to  hear  the  afternoon  sermon.  She  did 


244  OLD  EBENEZER 

not  think  it  wise  to  stay  so  long.  The  road  home 
was  very  attractive  by  day,  with  its  over-hanging 
branches  and  streams  of  clear  water,  but  it  was  dark 
and  rather  desolate  at  night.  Still  they  would  not 
start  immediately.  She  would  like  to  look  at  the 
old  spring  at  the  foot  of  the  hill;  history  bubbled 
in  its  water;  her  grand-father  had  camped  there. 
They  walked  down  to  the  spring  and  seated  them 
selves  on  the  rocks.  The  men  who  had  come  down 
to  "swap"  saddles  and  lies,  got  up  and  moved  away. 

"Mr.  Lyman,"  said  Eva,  sitting  with  her  hands 
full  of  leaves  and  wild-flowers,  and  glancing  down 
at  them,  "we  were  very  sorry  to  hear  that  the  White 
Caps  had  called  on  you." 

"I  wasn't  expecting  them,"  Lyman  replied,  "but 
I  made  them  feel  at  home." 

Mrs.  McElwin  looked  at  him  with  a  cool  smile. 
"Yes,"  she  said,  "for  home  probably  means  a  fight 
with  most  of  them.  It  was  an  outrage  and  every 
body  is  glad  that  you  sent  them  off  with  broken 
heads.  Of  course  there  has  been  a  great  deal  of 
talk,  but  have  you  any  idea  as  to  who  lead  the 
party?" 

"Not  the  slightest,"  Lyman  answered,  and  the 
girl  looked  up  at  him. 


OLD  EBENEZER  245 

"Some  one  has  been  mean  enough,  so  a  very 
dear  friend  told  us,  to  insinuate  that — that  father 
knew  of  it  in  time  to  have  prevented  it,"  she  said. 

"Eva,  why  should  you  mention  such  a  thing. 
Mr.  Lyman  couldn't  give  it  credence,  even  for  a 
moment."  She  frowned. 

"Mr.  McElwin  was  kind  enough  to  come  to  me 
the  next  morning,"  said  Lyman.  "He  was  very 
much  moved,  and  I  feel  that  if  he  could  he  would 
have  the  ruffians  punished." 

"I  thank  you  for  laying  that,  Mr.  Lyman,"  Mrs. 
McElwin  spoke  up.  "I  know  he  would."  She 
glanced  about  and  appeared  to  be  nervous  under 
the  gaze  of  the  people  on  the  hill.  "I  don't  know 
what  they  think  of  us  three  sitting  here  together," 
she  said.  "People  out  here  are  peculiar." 

"Let  them  think,"  the  girl  replied. 

Lyman  looked  down  and  saw  her  shapely  foot  on 
the  rock.  The  light  was  strong  where  she  sat,  and 
he  noticed  a  freckle  on  her  cheek,  and  this  slight 
blemish  drew  her  closer  to  him. 

"But  we  must  respect  their  thoughts,"  the 
mother  replied. 

"We   should   not  put   ourselves  out   on   account 


246  OLD  EBENEZER 

of  their  prejudices,"  Lyman  was  bold  enough  to 
remark.  The  girl  smiled  at  him. 

"Perhaps  not,"  Mrs.  McElwin  weakly  agreed. 

"Perhaps  not!"  Eva  repeated.  "Mother,  you 
don't  seem  to  think  that  I  am  just  as  human  as  any 
of  those  girls  up  there,  that  I  have  practically  the 
same  feelings.  But  I  am,  and  I  am  not  a  bit  better 
than  they — not  any  better  than  that  girl  up  there 
under  the  tree  talking  to  that  young  man.  Why, 
he's  from  town." 

"He  is  Mr.  Warren,  my  partner,"  said  Lyman. 

"Oh,  is  he?  They  say  he  is  such  a  funny  man. 
But  he's  nice  looking.  I  have  seen  him  many  a 
time,  and  he  was  pointed  out  to  me  once,  but  I  had 
forgotten  his  name." 

"We'd  better  go  now,"  said  Mrs.  McElwin. 

"Oh,  not  yet,"  the  daughter  replied.  "There's 
plenty  of  time.  It  won't  take  us  long  to  drive 
home.  And  besides,  we  haven't  congratulated  the 
preacher  yet.  And  there  he  comes  now,  down  this 
way.  See  that  girl  draw  back  as  if  she  were  going 
to  throw  something  at  Mr.  Warren.  He  must  be  a 
tease.  Look  at  that  old  man  laughing.  Every 
body  wants  to  shake  hands  with  the  preacher.  I 


OLD  EBENEZER  247 

think  he  did  splendidly.  He  surprised  me,  I'm 
sure." 

"He  surprised  us  both  on  one  occasion/'  said 
Lyman.  Eva  laughed,  but  her  mother  looked 
grave.  "Let  us  not  speak  of  that,"  she  said.  "It 
has  caused  us  trouble  enough;  and  not  even  now 
do  I  fully  understand  it.  Oh,  I  know  that  the  leg 
islature  made  some  sort  of  blunder  and  that  Henry 
Bostic  had  been  ordained,  but  I  cannot  realize  that 
I  am  sitting  here  talking  to  my  daughter's  legal 
husband.  Still  we  can  get  accustomed  to  anything 
in  time,  I  suppose." 

"I  can  hardly  realize  that  I  am  a  married  man/' 
Lyman  replied.  Mrs.  McElwin  looked  at  hirn 
with  a  start,  as  if  his  words  hurt  her,  as  if  she  sud 
denly  felt  that  she  was  doing  a  grave  injustice  to 
her  husband  to  sit  there  talking  to  a  man  who 
would  not  have  been  permitted  to  cross  her 
threshold.  She  got  up.  "We  must  go,"  she  said. 

"Oh,  not  now,"  the  daughter  pleaded. 

"Yes,  we  must  go." 

"But  can't  you  let  me  stay  and  come  home  with 
Mr.  Lyman." 

If  the  mother  had  been  startled  before  she  was 
shocked  now.  "If  you  talk  like  that,  my  daughter, 


248  OLD  EBENEZER 

I  shall  not  believe  that  you  are  very  much  different 
from  the  girls  up  there.  Do  you  want  your  father 
scandalized?  Pardon  me,  Mr.  Lyman,  but  I  must 
speak  plainly  to  her." 

Lyman,  who  had  also  arisen,  bowed  to  her.  "No 
offense,"  he  said.  "I  am  thoroughly  in  harmony 
with  the  absurdity  of  my  position,  even  if  I  can't 
realize  that  I  am  married." 

Mrs.  McElwin  winced.  "Please  don't  repeat 
that  again,"  she  said. 

The  girl  stamped  her  foot  upon  the  rock. 
"Don't  talk  that  way,"  she  commanded.  "If  Mr. 
Lyman  wants  me  to  stay  and  go  home  when  he 
does  no  one  could  prevent  it.  He  can  command 
me  to  stay." 

Mrs.  McElwin  fluttered,  but  afraid  of  a  scene,  she 
smoothed  herself  down.  "I  was  joking,"  she  said. 

"We  will  go  now,"  the  daughter  replied,  "but  I 
do  wish  you  would  stay.  I'd  like  to  go  up  there 
among  those  girls.  I  know  they  are  having  a  good 
time.  Help  me  up."  She  put  out  her  hand  and 
Lyman  took  hold  of  it,  but  she  pulled  back,  laugh 
ing.  "Help  me  up."  She  put  out  the  other  hand, 
her  mother  looking  on  in  a  fright.  "You'll  have 
to  help  me  into  the  buggy,"  she  said. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 
AT  NANCY'S  HOME. 

Lyman  stood  gazing  after  them  as  they  drove 
away.  The  girl  waved  her  hand  at  him,  and  then 
removing  her  glove,  she  waved  it  again.  He  saw 
the  mother  turn  to  her  as  if  with  a  word  of  caution. 
The  road  was  crooked,  and  a  clump  of  bushes,  a 
leafy  bulge,  soon  hid  them  from  view.  Lyman 
walked  slowly  and  not  light  of  heart,  up  the  hillside 
to  the  tree  beneath  which  he  had  seen  Warren  and 
his  new-found  friends.  There  they  were,  sitting  on 
the  ground,  eating. 

"You  are  just  in  time  for  a  snack,"  old  man  Pitt 
cried,  waving  the  leg  of  a  chicken. 

"And  here  is  some  pie  that  Miss  Nancy  baked 
with  her  own  hands,"  said  Warren,  moving  closer 
to  the  girl  to  make  room  for  his  friend.  "I  have 
been  telling  Mr.  Pitt  about  your  funny  marriage." 

"Yes,"  Pitt  spoke  up,  "and  I  was  tellin'  of  him 
that  if  I  was  in  your  place  and  wanted  her,  now  that 
I  had  the  law  on  my  side,  I'd  have  her  or  a  fight  or 

(249) 


250  OLD  EBENEZER 

a  foot  race,  one  or  tuther,  it  wouldn't  make  much 
difference  which.  Of  course  I  mean  if  I  found  out 
after  the  joke  was  all  over  that  I  wanted  her,  for  I 
tell  you — have  a  piece  of  this  light  corn  bread— 
I  tell  you  that  it  is  a  mighty  serious  thing  when  a 
man  wants  a  woman  and  wants  her  bad.  Here's 
some  pickles— tiiey  ain't  good,  but  they'll  do  at  a 
shake-down.  But  this  here  ham's  prime.  Serious 
thing,  sir,  when  a  man  wants  a  woman  and  wants 
her  right  bad.  There's  a  case  in  our  neighborhood 
of  a  young  feller  goin'  crazy  after  a  woman  he 
wanted.  It  ain't  but  once  in  a  while,  you  know, 
that  a  feller  finds  the  woman  set  up  to  suit  him,  and 
when  he  do  find  her,  why  he  ought  to  sorter  spit 
on  his  hands — figurative  like,"  he  made  haste  to 
add,  catching  the  reproving  eye  of  his  daughter. 
"Spit  on  his  hands  figurative  like  and  give  it  out 
cold  that  he  is  there  to  stay  till  the  cows  come 
home.  And  that  reminds  me  that  this  here  butter 
ain't  of  the  best.  The  cow  eat  a  lot  of  beet  tops 
and  it  didn't  help  her  butter  none,  I  contend,  still 
some  folks  wouldn't  notice  it.  I  hear  'em  say,  Mr. 
Whut's-your-name,  that  you  come  from  away  up 
yander  whar  rocks  is  so  plenty  on  the  farms  that 


OLD  EBENEZER  251 

in  a  boss  trade  it  would  be  big  boot  if  a  feller  was 
to  throw  in  a  hankerchuf  full  of  dirt.  I  don't 
blame  you  for  comin'  away  from  thar." 

"It's  pretty  rocky  up  there,"  said  Lyman.  "One 
of  our  humorists — Doesticks,"  he  added,  nodding 
to  Warren,  "said  that  we  had  to  slice  our  potatoes 
and  slip  them  down  edgeways  between  the  rocks.'' 

The  old  man  sprawled  himself  on  the  ground  and 
laughed.  "Well,  if  they  was  to  go  out  a  shootin' 
at  liars  wheat  straw  would  leak  through  that  feller's 
hide.  How  are  you  gittin'  along  over  thar,  Mr. 
Warren?"  he  inquired,  sitting  up  and  again  de 
voting  himself  to  the  chicken. 

"First  rate,  don't  know  when  I've  eaten  as 
much." 

"Oh,  you  haven't  eat  a  thing,"  Miss  Nancy  pro 
tested,  looking  at  him  in  great  surprise.  "You'd 
soon  die  at  this  rate." 

"You  are  right,  but  not  of  starvation.  I  suppose 
they  are  feeding  the  preacher,"  he  said,  looking 
round.  "Yes,  they've  got  him  up  there.  Look 
the  women  are  bringing  him  things  from  all  direc 
tions.  Lyman,  your  people  didn't  wait  to  congrat 
ulate  him.  I  think  it  hurt  him,  too,  for  I  saw  his 


252  OLD  EBENEZER 

countenance  fall.     You  must  have  said  something 
to  hurry  the  old  lady  off." 

"No,  on  the  contrary  I  rather  urged  her  to  stay." 

"Yes,  and  that's  what  sent  her  off." 

"But  what's  to  be  the  outcome  of  the  affair?"  the 
old  man  asked.  "Of  course  you  wouldn't  want  to 
tie  her  up  so  she  couldn't  marry  anybody  else, 
though  I  honor  your  pluck  in  not  lettin'  'em  force 
you  into  signin'  the  paper.  McElwin  is  a  mighty 
over-bearin'  sort  of  a  man.  I  worked  a  piece  of 
land  year  before  last  over  on  the  creek  near  a  field 
that  belonged  to  him,  and  sir,  the  hired  feller  that 
delved  and  swetted  thar  'peered  like  he  thought  it 
was  a  great  privilege  to  drag  himself  over  the 
ground  that  belonged  to  McElwin.  He  p'inted 
him  out  one  day  as  he  driv  along  in  a  buggy  and 
when  my  eyes  didn't  pop  out  of  my  head  he  was 
might'ly  'stonished.  Yes,  sir,  they  think  the  Lord 
was  proud  of  the  job  when  that  man  was  put  on 
earth.  Well,  I  believe  they  are  gettin'  ready  to  go 
back  into  the  house,  and  if  you  folks  want  to  go, 
don't  let  me  hold  you." 

"Ain't  you  goin'  to  hear  him,  pap?"  the  girl 
asked,  getting  up  and  brushing  the  twigs  from  her 
skirt. 


OLD  EBENEZER  "  253 

"Wall,  I  don't  believe  I  will  jest  at  the  present 
writm',"  he  drawled.  "He's  a  good  old  feller  and 
all  that  sort  of  thing,  and  I  reckon  he  do  love  the 
Lord,  but  he  nipped  me  in  a  hoss  swop  about 
twenty-odd  year  ago,  and  whenever  I  hear  him 
preach  I  can't  git  it  out  of  my  head  that  he's  trying 
to  nip  me  agin." 

"Why,  pap,  that  was  long  before  he  joined  the 
church." 

"Yes,  but  I  can't  help  from  holdin'  that  a  man 
that  will  nip  you  in  a  hoss  swop  one  time  will  do  it 
agin  if  he  gets  the  chance." 

"Well,"  she  said,  "you  would  have  nipped  him 
if  you  could." 

"Yes,  that  mout  be,  but  I  wouldn't  have  come 
round  preachin'  to  him  afterwards.  Go  on  in,  you 
young  folks,  and  Til  waller  around  here  a  while 
and  then  go  down  and  see  how  my  hosses  air  get- 
tin'  along." 

"And  I  will  stay  with  you,"  said  Lyman.  The 
romance  had  gone  out  of  the  old  house,  for  him, 
but  not  for  Warren  and  Nancy.  Warren  walked 
to  the  church  with  her,  and  she  pleaded  with  him  to 
let  her  go  up  to  the  door  alone. 


254  OLD  EBENEZER 

"Why  should  we  care  what  they  think?"  he  said. 

"Oh,  I  care  a  good  deal.  They  would  talk  about 
me  and  laugh  at  me,  and  besides  you  ain't  no  kin 
to  me.  It's  only  kin  folks  that  set  together." 

"They  don't  know  whether  I'm  any  kin  to  you  or 
not." 

"Yes,  they  do.  They  know  that  I  haven't  any 
young  men  kin  folks  round  here  but  cousin  Jerry." 

"Who  the  deuce  is  he?  Hold  on  a  moment. 
Tell  me  about  that  fellow  Jerry." 

"Oh,  there  ain't  nothin'  to  tell  except  he's  my 
cousin.  If  you  let  me  go  in  alone  I'll  tell  you  all 
about  him  when  I  come  out." 

He  suffered  her  to  go  in  alone,  but  he  sat  as 
close  to  her  as  he  could,  on  a  bench  just  oppo 
site,  and  it  was  so  evident  that  he  wanted  to  be 
nearer  that  a  hillside  wag  remarked  to  a  friend: 
"See  that  young  feller  a  leanin'  in  toward  her  like 
a  young  steer  with  a  sore  neck."  The  remark  was 
passed  from  one  to  another  and  a  titter  went  round 
the  room.  Warren  saw  her  blush  and  realizing 
that  he  was  the  cause  of  her  embarrassment,  he 
leaned  back,  and  the  wag  remarked:  "Other  side 
of  his  neck's  sore  now — he's  leanin'  tuther  way." 


OLD   EBENEZER  255 

Lyman  and  the  old  man  walked  about  the 
grounds.  Pitt  suggested  going  to  the  spring,  but 
Lyman  drew  back  from  the  idea  as  if  the  place  were 
desolate  now.  They  went  down  the  road  to  a 
mossy  place  where  the  ironwood  trees  leaned  out 
over  a  stream.  They  looked  at  the  sun-fish  flash 
ing  their  golden  sides  in  the  light;  they  sat  down 
to  smoke  a  pipe,  the  rising  voice  of  the  preacher 
seeming  to  sift  in  the  leaves  above  them.  The  sun 
was  shining  aslant  when  they  got  up  and  a  shadow 
lay  upon  the  pool. 

"He  must  be  on  the  home-stretch,"  said  the  old 
man,  nodding  toward  the  house.  "I'll  go  over  and 
hitch  up  the  horses." 

"I  have  a  similar  task  to  perform,"  Lyman  re 
plied.  "I'll  see  you  again  before  I  start  home." 

"All  right,  and  I  am  much  obleeged  for  your 
company." 

The  sermon  was  over  before  the  horses  were  har 
nessed.  Warren  came  running  to  Lyman.  "You 
ride  with  the  old  man  and  let  me  take  the  girl  in  the 
spring  wagon,"  said  he. 

"What;  we  may  not  go  in  the  same  direction." 

"Of  course  we  do.    We  are  going  home  with 


256  OLD  EBENEZER 

them.  It's  all  right.  I've  put  the  old  man  down 
for  a  year's  subscription." 

"And  you  want  to  go  over  there  to  board  it  out. 
Is  that  it?" 

"I  hadn't  thought  of  that.     But  I  could  do  it." 

"Does  he  know  that  he's  a  subscriber?" 

"Not  yet,  but  I  can  tell  him.  Miss  Nancy  wants 
us  to  go." 

"Did  she  say  so?" 

"Well,  now  what  would  be  the  use  of  saying  so? 
She  could  say  it  as  easily  as  not.  And  I  guess  she 
would  have  said  it  if  she  had  thought  to.  But  I 
know  she  wants  us  to  go.  Come,  now,  won't  you 
go  just  to  oblige  me?  Remember,  I  didn't  kick 
very  hard  when  you  killed  all  my  best  pieces  of 
news.  Let  me  have  a  fling  now,  won't  you? 
You've  been  having  all  the  fun — marriage  and 
White  Caps.  Won't  you  go  just  to  oblige  me?" 

"Yes,  I'll  ride  with  the  old  man  or  I'll  ride  on  a 
rail  when  you  put  it  that  way." 

"All  right.  Here  she  comes  now,  and  the  old 
man's  up  there  waiting  for  you." 

During  the  drive,  the  old  fellow  commented  upon 
the  historical  places  along  the  road.  lie  pointed 


OLD   EBENEZER  257 

out  the  spot  where  he  had  killed  the  last  diamond- 
back  rattlesnake  seen  in  that  neighborhood;  he  di 
rected  Lyman's  attention  to  a  barn  wherein  five 
negroes  had  been  hanged  for  rising  against  the 
whites  in  1854;  he  pointed  at  a  charred  stump  and 
told  the  story  of  a  fanatic  who  had  tied  himself  there 
and  burned  himself  on  account  of  his  religion. 
They  came  at  last  to  a  large  log  house,  the  Pitt 
homestead,  and  had  unharnessed  the  horses  before 
Warren  and  Nancy  came  within  sight.  A  tall  wo 
man,  followed  by  a  score  of  children  of  all  sizes, 
came  out  to  meet  them. 

"They  ain't  all  mine,"  said  the  old  man.  "Them 
as  looks  about  fryin'  size  belongs  to  the  folks  over 
the  creek.  Mother,  this  here  is  a  friend  of  ourn 
from  away  up  yonder  whar  they  have  to  slice  the 
potatoes  and  slip  'em  down  between  the  rocks,  and 
I  want  to  tell  you  that  him  and  me  fits  one  another 
like  a  hand  and  glove." 

"I  am  mighty  glad  to  meet  you,"  said  the  wo 
man,  wiping  her  hands  on  her  apron.  "Come  right 
in  and  excuse  the  looks  of  everything  and  make 
yourself  at  home.  But,  pap,  where's  Nancy?" 

"Oh,  she's  comin*  along  in  a  carry-all  with  the 


258  OLD  EBENEZER 

town  man  that  runs  the  paper.  She's  all  right — she 
can  take  care  of  herself  anywhere." 

They  went  into  the  house,  the  children  scattering 
and  peeping  from  corners  and  from  behind  the 
althea  bushes  in  the  yard.  Warren  and  Nancy  soon 
came  in  laughing.  The  girl  threw  her  hat  on  the 
bed,  tucked  up  her  skirts  and  went  out  to  the  kit 
chen  to  help  her  mother,  and  the  old  man  excused 
himself  on  the  grounds  that  he  must  go  out  to  feed 
the  stock. 

"Warren,  gallantry  is  all  right,  but  this  is  cruel," 
said  Lyman.  "We  are  imposing  on  this  family. 
Look  how  those  women  have  to  work,  and  they 
will  strain  every  nerve  to  get  us  something  to  eat." 

"Of  course  they  will,  and  they  like  it.  Do  you 
know  that?  They  do.  You  couldn't  please  them 
more  than  by  eating  with  them,  and  I'm  always 
willing  to  put  myself  out  to  please  folks.  Say,  we'll 
stay  here  tonight  and  go  in  tomorrow." 

"I  am  not  going  to  stay.  Doesn't  it  strike  you 
that  you  are  a  trifle  too  brash,  as  they  say  around 
here?  Don't  you  think  so?" 

"Not  a  bit  of  it.  I  want  to  stay  till  tomorrow  to 
see  whether  I  want  to  come  back  again  or  not.  I 


OLD  EBENEZER  259 

waat  to  find  out  whether  I  am  in  love  with  her  or 
not.  I  think  I  am,  but  still  I  don't  know,  and  my 
rule  is  that  a  man  ought  to  know  where  he  stands 
before  he  walks.  We  were  passing  under  a  tree 
and  she  reached  up  and  pulled  at  a  limb  and  her 
loose  sleeve  fell  down  and  I  saw  her  arm.  That  al 
most  settled  it.  But  I  think  I'll  know  definitely  in 
the  morning." 

"Warren,  I'm  going  back  to  town  tonight." 

"What,  over  that  dark  road?  Don't  you  know 
we  passed  a  good  many  dangerous  places  coming? 
Stay  till  tomorrow." 

"No,  I'll  walk  back  and  leave  the  wagon  for 
you." 

That  would  be  an  outrage,  If  you  go  back, 
drive." 

"No,  to  tell  you  the  truth  I  would  rather  walk. 
I  want  to  think." 

"Then  you'd  rather  go  alone,  anyway,  wouldn't 
you  ?  All  right,  and  probably  I  can  get  her  to  come 
to  town  with  me  tomorrow.  They've  got  to  send 
in  to  buy  things  sometimes,  I  should  think.  By  the 
by,  I've  got  a  lot  of  seeds  sent  by  a  congressman, 
and  I'll  tell  the  old  man  he  can  have  them.  Moth- 


260  OLD  EBENEZER 

ing  catches  one  of  these  old  fellows  like  seeds. 
He'll  send  her  in  after  them  tomorrow  morning, 
and  then  I  can  find  out  how  I  stand." 

"With  her?" 

"No,  find  out  how  I  stand  with  myself — see 
whether  I  love  her  or  not.  Have  you  found  out 
yet — in  your  case?  Tell  me,  I  won't  say  anything 
about  it." 

"Yes,  I  have  found  out." 

"You  needn't  say— I  guess  I  know."  Warren 
reached  over  and  took  Lyman  by  the  hand.  "We 
save  time  and  trouble  when  we  put  a  man  in  a  po 
sition  so  that  he  needn't  say." 

"Yes,"  said  Lyman,  "the  greatest  justice  you 
can  confer  on  a  man,  at  times,  is  to  permit  him  to 
be  silent." 

Nancy  came  hastily  into  the  room  and  from  the 
broad  mantel-piece  took  down  two  beflowered  tea 
cups,  kept  there  as  ornaments.  She  smiled  at  War 
ren  and  brushed  out  with  a  mischievous  toss  of  her 
comely  head. 

"We  not  only  put  them  to  extra  trouble,  but 
compel  them  to  take  down  their  decorations,"  Ly 
man  remarked. 


OLD  EBENEZER  261 

"But  can't  you  see  how  she  likes  it?"  Warren 
spoke  up.  "Probably  it  has  been  six  months  since 
they  have  had  a  chance  to  use  those  cups.  We  are 
doing  them  a  favor,  I  tell  you."  He  shook  his  head 
and  sighed.  "If  she  comes  in  here  again  and  looks 
at  me  that  way  I'll  know  where  I  stand.  Oh,  I'm 
not  slow,  but  I  want  to  be  certain." 

They  heard  the  old  man  talking  in  the  kitchen, 
and  then  came  his  heavy  tread  on  the  loose  and 
flapping  boards  of  the  passage-way.  The  door  was 
cut  so  low  that  he  had  to  duck  his  head.  He  came 
in  with  a  stoop,  but  straightening  himself  in  the 
majesty  of  conscious  hospitality,  he  bowed  and 
said:  "Gentlemen,  you  will  please  walk  out  to 
supper." 

Lyman  began  to  offer  an  apology  for  putting  the 
household  to  so  much  trouble.  The  old  man  bowed 
again  and  said:  "We  didn't  bring  no  trouble  home 
with  us  from  church,  but  ruther  a  pleasure,  sir." 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 
OUT  IN  THE  DARK, 

Warren  argued,  the  old  man  urged  and  the  old 
lady  pleaded  as  she  fanned  her  hot  face  with  her 
apron,  catching  it  up  by  the  corners,  but  Lyman 
was  determined  to  go  home.  Warren  went  out 
with  him  and  together  they  walked  down  the  dark 
road,  in  the  cool  air  of  the  night  and  the  hot  air  that 
lagged  over  from  the  heat  of  the  day.  There  was 
no  moon,  but  in  the  sky,  which  the  slowly-moving 
boughs  of  overhanging  trees  seemed  to  keep  in  mo 
tion,  there  was  a  blizzard  of  stars.  From  the  dust- 
covered  thickets  along  the  road  arose  the  chirrup 
of  insects,  the  strange  noises  that  make  night 
lonesome;  and  a  small  stream,  which  in  the  light 
has  flowed  without  noise  over  the  slick,  blue  rocks, 
was  rushing  now  with  a  loud  gurgle,  as  if  to  hurry 
out  of  the  dark. 

"Well,  I  turn  back  here,"  said  Warren.  "It  is  a 
piece  of  foolishness  for  you  to  go.  There's  no  need 
of  it.  You  haven't  anything  to  do  tomorrow  that 
you  can't  do  next  day." 

(262) 


OLD  EBENEZER  263 

"No,  but,  alone  in  the  woods,  I  can  do  a  piece  of 
work  that  would  never  come  within  range  of  me  in 
town." 

"I  understand.  You  want  to  shake  everybody 
and  be  absolutely  alone." 

"Yes,  absolutely." 

"But  stay  here  over  night,  and  if  you  must,  walk 
in  tomorrow.  You  would  be  just  as  much  alone 
then,  wouldn't  you?" 

"No,  I  am  never  perfectly  alone  except  in  the 
dark." 

"Well,  I  have  worked  with  you  the  best  I  know 
how;  and  you  see  how  I'm  fixed — got  to  find  out 
how  I  stand.  But  I  hate  to  see  you  go  off  in  this 
way  alone.  Just  look  how  dark  it  is  down  yonder. 
And  I  am  to  go  back  to  the  light  and  to  sit  there 
and  think  of  you  trudging  along  in  the  dark.  Just 
think  of  the  light  I  am  going  into — the  light  of  that 
smile." 

"And  from  away  out  in  the  woods  I  may  turn  to 
see  you  blinking  in  the  glare.  But  I  am  keeping 
you.  Good  night." 

"Wait  a  moment.  Now,  you  won't  think  hard  of 
me,  will  you?" 


264  OLD  EBENEZER 

"Hard  of  you?    Not  if  you  go  back." 

"All  right,  then.     Good  night." 

Pitt  had  given  Lyman  minute  directions  as  to  the 
road  he  should  take,  a  path-way  through  the  woods 
and  across  fields,  and  leading  to  the  county  road  at 
a  point  not  far  from  the  ruined  dam.  The  path  was 
not  straight,  and  in  the  dark  woods  he  kept  it  with 
difficulty,  having  to  pat  with  his  foot  to  find  the 
hard  ground,  but  in  the  turned-out  fields  the  way 
was  well-defined  and  he  walked  rapidly.  Once  he 
crossed  a  stretch  of  ripening  oats,  and  in  a  dip-down 
where  the  growth  was  rank  he  heard  voices  and  a 
song — hired  men  lying  out  to  wear  off  the  effect  of 
a  visit  to  the  distillery.  He  came  to  the  dam  much 
sooner  than  he  had  expected,  and  near  the  trickling 
water  he  sat  down  upon  a  rock  to  rest.  An  island 
of  willows  had  grown  up  in  the  broad  shallow  pond. 
Out  from  this  dark  thicket,  a  great  bird  flew  and 
with  its  wings  slapped  the  face  of  the  quiet  water, 
and  the  frogs  hushed  and  the  world  was  still,  save 
the  trickling  from  the  dam,  till  the  frogs  began 
again.  For  days,  there  had  been  in  his  mind  the 
vague  form  of  a  story,  and  he  strove  to  summon  it 
now,  but  the  forms  that  came  were  shadows  with 


OLD  EBENEZER 


265 


no  light  in  their  eyes.  Throughout  all  the  dark 
woods  this  dim  web  of  a  plot  had  not  come  to  him, 
though  he  had  thought  to  ponder  over  it  before  set 
ting  out,  but  had  forgotten  it  when  once  on  the 
road.  He  sent  his  mind  back  over  the  course  he 
had  followed,  to  pick  up  any  little  suggestions  that 
might  have  come  to  him  to  be  held  for  a  moment 
and  dropped,  but  there  was  none.  Instead, 
•everywhere  in  the  spread  of  his  mind  there 
was  an  illuminated  spot,  shifting,  and  in  the 
bright  spot  sat  a  figure  on  a  rock,  a  brown  head, 
a  face  with  one  freckle,  and  an  impetuous,  grace 
ful  foot  that  sometimes  stamped  in  impatience. 
Into  the  light  there  came  another  figure,  strong, 
ruddy,  and  with  a  calico  skirt  tucked  up. 
One  was  refinement,  the  other  strength;  one 
nerves,  the  other  muscle.  Onward  he  strode, 
the  road  damp  from  its  nearness  to  the  creek. 
Out  upon  the  higher  land  he  turned,  the 
shale  clicking  under  his  feet.  He  had  the  feeling 
that  some  one  was  walking  slowly  behind  him, 
stealing  the  noise  of  his  footsteps  to  conceal  a 
stealthier  tread,  and  he  smiled  at  his  fear,  but  he 
halted  to  listen.  He  thought  of  a  poem,  "The 


266  OLD  EBENEZER 

Stab,"  and  he  repeated  it  as  he  walked  along,  and 
the  swift  falling  of  the  -knife,  "Like  a  splinter  of 
daylight  downward  thrown,"  found  an  echo  in  his 
footsteps.  He  came  to  the  creek  wherein  the  old 
horse  had  stood  to  cool  his  hot  knees;  he  crossed 
the  foot-log  and  was  about  to  step  down  again  into 
the  road  when  he  heard  the  furious  galloping  of 
horses  and  the  rattle  of  a  buggy.  The  team 
plunged  into  the  creek,  not  directly  at  the  ford;  the 
buggy  struck  a  rock  and  flew  into  fragments;  the 
horses  came  plunging  on,  leaving  a  man  in  the 
water.  Lyman  rushed  forward  as  the  horses 
dashed  past  him.  By  the  light  of  the  stars  he  saw 
the  flying  fragments  of  the  buggy — saw  the  water 
splash  where  the  man  fell.  The  man  made  no  ef 
fort  to  get  up,  and  Lyman  thought  that  surely  he 
must  have  been  killed.  But  when  Lyman  reached 
him  he  was  trying  to  crawl  against  the  shallow  but 
swift  current.  Lyman  seized  him,  dragged  him  to 
the  shore,  stretched  him  upon  the  ground. 

"Are  you  hurt?"  he  asked,  feeling  for  his  heart. 
The  man  muttered  something.  Lyman  struck  a 
match,  looked  at  the  man's  face,  blew  out  the 
match,  tossed  the  burnt  stem  into  the  road  and  said 


OLD  EBENEZER  267 

to  himself:  "Of  course  I  had  to  be  the  one  to  find 
him.  Are  you  hurt,  Sawyer?" 

"You  fling  me  'n  creek?"  he  muttered,  filling  the 
air  with  the  fumes  of  whisky.  "Fling  me'n  creek, 
got  me  to  whip.  Tell  you  that,  hah?  Hear  what  I 
said?  Got  me  to  whip." 

"Blackguard,  I  don't  know  but  I  ought  to  have 
let  you  drown." 

"Good  man  to  drown  me,  tell  you  that,"  he  said, 
sitting  up.  "Horses  gone?" 

"Yes,  and  your  buggy  is  smashed  all  to  pieces." 

"I  believe  it  is.  Bring  me  the  pieces,  won't  you." 
He  leaned  over  and  laughed  like  an  idiot. 
"Stopped  at  a  distillery,  and  stopped  too  long. 
Don't  take  a  man  long  to  stop  too  long  at  a  distil 
lery.  What's  your  name?  You  ain't  Jim,  are  you? 
What's  your  name,  anyway;  why  don't  you  talk  to 
a  feller." 

"It  won't  do  to  leave  him  here,"  said  Lyman, 
looking  about  as  if  searching  for  the  light  from  a 
house.  "Do  you  think  you  can  walk?"  he  asked. 

"Walk  a  thousand  miles.  Hear  what  I  said? 
Thousand  miles.  Where  do  you  want  to  go,  Jim?" 
"I  want  to  take  vou  to  a  house." 


268 


OLD  EBENEZER 


"Oh,  I'm  all  right.  But  don't  leave  me,  Jim. 
Whatever  you  do,  don't  leave  me.  I  couldn't  get 
along  without  you.  Hit  Bob  a  crack  over  the  head 
and  addled  him  so  he  ain't  at  himself  yet.  They 
took  him  away  round  here  to  his  uncle's  to  keep 
him  out  of  the  way,  and  I  drove  out  there  to  see 
him  and  stopped  at  distillery  and  stayed  too  long. 
Ever  stay  too  long,  Jim?" 

"Do  the  doctors  think  that  Bob  will  get  well?" 

"Yes,  in  a  measure;  he  won't  go  round 
White-Capping  any  more,  though.  But  I'll  make 
that  all  right.  I'll  meet  that  feller  Lyman  and 
put  up  his  shutters.  Sit  down." 

"No,  there's  a  house  up  yonder  and  I'll  take  you 
there.  You  may  be  injured  in  some  way.  Let's 
see  if  you  can  walk.  Lean  on  me.  That's  it." 

"I  can't  walk  fast,  Jim.  Believe  I  am  hurt  some. 
I'd  a  drounded  out  there  if  it  hadn't  been  for  you, 
Jim.  Ah — h.  I  don't  believe  I  can  go  on.  I'm 
sick." 

"Here,  let  me  get  my  arm  around  you  so  I  can 
hold  you  up  better.  Now  you're  all  right.  It's 
only  a  little  way." 

They  soon  came  to. the  house.     The  barking  of 


OLD  EBENEZER  269 

dogs  brought  a  man  out  to  the  fence.  In  a  few 
words  Lyman  told  him  what  had  happened.  Saw 
yer  was  unable  to  walk  further  and  they  took  him 
into  the  house  and  put  him  upon  a  bed.  An  ex 
cited  woman  bathed  his  face,  and  a  barefoot  boy,  as 
fleet  as  a  deer,  was  sent  across  the  creek  for  a  doc 
tor.  Lyman  waited  until  he  came.  He  said  that 
Sawyer  was  badly  bruised,  but  added  that  he  did 
not  appear  to  be  fatally  hurt.  While  they  were 
talking,  Sawyer  opened  his  eyes.  "Where's  Jim?" 
he  inquired. 

"Here/'  said  Lyman,  stepping  forward. 

"Merciful  God,"  the  wounded  man  moaned,  and 
covered  his  face  with  his  hands.  Lyman  stepped 
back,  and  Sawyer,  putting  out  his  hand,  with  his 
eyes  closed,  said  to  him:  "Please  don't  leave  me." 

"I  will  stay  until  daylight,"  said  Lyman. 

"Thank  you,  sir.     Don't  leave  me." 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 
THE  REVENGE. 

Early  the  next  morning  Pitt  and  his  daughter 
drove  to  town  with  Warren.  The  promise  of  gov 
ernment  seeds  had  greatly  excited  the  old  fellow, 
and,  three  times  before  the  breaking  of  day,  did  he 
get  up  and  look  out,  impatient  of  the  darkness  that 
still  lay  in  the  east.  Warren  gave  him  the  seeds  and 
had  gone  down  to  see  them  off  for  home  before  he 
happened  to  realize  that  Lyman  was  not  in  the  of 
fice.  He  went  up  stairs  and  inquired  after  him. 
The  boy  said  that  he  had  not  come.  He  sat  down 
in  a  fear  that  his  friend  was  lost  in  the  woods,  and 
was  thinking  of  setting  out  to  look  for  him  when 
Lyman  walked  in,  looking  worn  and  tired. 

"Why,  what's  the  matter?"  Warren  cried.  "You 
look  like  a  whipped  rooster." 

"I  am,"  said  Lyman  sitting  down.  "A  prop  has 
been  knocked  from  under  me  and  I  have  fallen 
down.  For  several  days  I  have  been  nursing  a 
sweet  revenge.  I  said  nothing  about  it,  but  I  was 

(270) 


OLD  EBENEZER  271 

going  to  knock  a  man  down,  tie  him  and  horse 
whip  him." 

"Well,  why  don't  you?    Is  he  gone?" 

"Yes,  beyond  my  reach.  I  thought  that  for  once 
in  my  life  I  would  act  the  part  of  a  very  natural 
man,  but  it  has  been  denied  me.  I  will  tell  you." 

He  narrated  his  adventure.  Warren  sat  staring 
at  him.  "It's  just  your  luck,  Lyman.  But,  why 
didn't  you  throw  him  back  into  the  creek?  Why 
didn't  you  stamp  him  into  the  ground?  And  you 
have  spoiled  another  piece  of  news.  What  do  you 
txpect  will  become  of  you  if  you  keep  on  this  way?" 

"He  mistook  me  for  some  one  else — he  called 
me  Jim.  I  couldn't  abuse  his  drunken  mistake 
and  show  him  that  I  was  not  his  friend  Jim.  It 
would  have  been  cruel.  And  when  he  recognized 
me  he  threw  himself  on  my  mercy  and  begged  me 
not  to  leave  him.  In  a  vague  way,  this  morning,  he 
remembered  all  that  had  taken  place.  He  is  not 
much  hurt,  but  the  doctor  will  keep  him  in  bed  for 
a  day  or  two.  He  is  completely  cowed  and  I  felt 
sorry  for  him.  He  hung  to  my  hand  when  I  bade 
him  good-bye  and  tears  ran  out  of  his  eyes.  He  de 
clared  that  I  had  whipped  him  more  severely  than 


272  OLD  EBENEZER 

if  I  had  used  a  raw-hide,  and  I  believe  I  have;  so, 
after  all,  I  had  my  revenge." 

"Lyman,  I  guess  your  sort  of  punishment  lasts 
longer.  But  I  confess  that  I  am  not  strong  enough 
to  indulge  that  sort  of  revenge.  It  takes  too  much 
time.  Well,  if  you  haven't  turned  things  over 
since  you  came  to  this  place  I  don't  want  a  cent. 
Old  Ebenezer  didn't  know  what  novelty  was  until 
you  struck  it.  We  had  a  great  time  last  night,"  he 
went  on,  after  a  few  moments  of  silence.  "Nancy 
sang  a  song,  a  come-all-ye  about  a  girl  that  hanged 
herself  because  she  had  cause  to  think  that  a  fellow 
didn't  love  her.  And  you  bet  she  can  sing.  She 
brought  tears  to  my  eyes,  and  a  woman  has  to  get 
up  early  and  sing  with  the  birds  before  she  can  do 
that." 

"Did  you  find  out  how  you  stand?"  Lyman  in 
quired,  smiling  at  him. 

"Oh,  yes;  that's  settled.  I  know  how  I  stand, 
and  now  I've  got  to  find  out  how  she  stands.  It 
takes  time,  I  tell  you.  I  don't  want  to  hurry  her, 
so  I  thought  I'd  wait  till  tomorrow  and  go  out 
there  and  ask  her  about  it." 

"Oh,  no,  I  wouldn't  hurry  her,"  said  Lyman, 


OLD  EBENEZER  .         273 

laughing.      "  I'd   wait    till  noon-time    tomorrow, 
anyway." 

"Yes,  along  about  there.  What  are  you  laugh 
ing  at  me  for?  This  thing  is  serious  with  me.  I 
went  out  with  her  this  morning  to  milk  the  cows. 
Talk  about  milking."  He  leaned  back  and  shut 
his  eyes  as  if  to  reproduce  the  scene.  "I  don't  want 
to  draw  any  comparisons,  old  fellow,  but  do  you 
suppose  Miss  Eva  could  milk?  Do  you  suppose 
she  could  grab  a  calf  and  make  him  feel  ashamed 
of  himself?" 

"I  don't  know  as  to  her  handling  of  calves,  I'm 
sure;  but  I  know  that  she  can  throw  a  light  into 
dark  places;  that  white  clover  springs  up  where  she 
walks;  that  if  she  were  to  sit  asleep  in  a  garden  the 
bees  would  fight  over  the  sweetness  of  her  lips ;  that 
her  mind  is  as  fresh,  as  full  of  bright  images  as  a 
stream  of  pure  water ;  that  her  foot  as  I  saw  it  upon 
a  rock  has  grace  enough  to  redeem  an  awkward 
world ;  and  that  in  comparison  with  the  notes  of  her 
voice  all  earthly  music  is  flat  and  dull." 

"Lyman,  I  guess  you  know  where  you  stand. 
But  have  you  found  out  where  she  stands?  Have 
you  asked  her  to  define  her  position?" 


274  OLD  EBENEZER 

"Her  position  defines  itself.  I  am  to  protect  her 
from  the  man  whose  life  I  saved  last  night." 

"Yes,  I  know,  but  after  you  have  protected  her — 
what  then?" 

"I  am  to  present  her  with  a  certificate  of  free 
dom." 

"But  don't  you  suppose  she'd  rather  have  a  part 
nership  than  freedom?" 

"Not  with  me.  I  am  something  of  a  novelty  to 
her  as  a  protector,  but  I  am  afraid  that  to  propose 
a  closer  relationship  would  make  me  appear  com 
monplace  enough." 

"Well,  you  know  your  own  business,  and  it's  not 
worth  while  to  give  you  advice;  but  you  are  a 
strange  sort  of  a  contradiction.  As  a  general 
thing  a  fellow  that's  easy  with  man  is  severe  with 
woman,  but  you  are  disposed  to  let  them  all  get 
away.  They  don't  get  away  from  me,  I'll  give  you 
a  pointer  on  that.  By  the  way,  here's  a  package 
that  I  found  here  for  you.  Came  by  express,  pre 
paid,  mind  you.  Think  of  that." 

In  Lyman's  eyes  there  was  the  soft  light  of  a  sad 
victory  as  he  opened  the  package  and  displayed  a 
dozen  copies  of  his  novel,  fresh  from  the  publisher. 


OLD  EBENEZER  275 

He  took  a  volume  upon  his  knee,  as  if  it  were  a 
child;  he  opened  the  leaves,  carefully  separating 
them  as  if  tenderly  parting  curly  hair.  Warren 
snatched  up  a  book  with  a  cry  of  delight ;  he  swore 
that  its  fame  was  assured;  he  knew  that  it  would 
sell  as  fast  as  it  came  from  the  press ;  but  Lyman  sat 
in  silence,  his  eyes  growing  sadder.  It  was  so  small 
a  thing  to  have  cost  so  many  anxious  days  and 
nights.  He  had  worked  on  it  so  intently  that  often 
when  he  had  stepped  out,  the  real  world  seemed  un 
real;  and  now  it  appeared  so  simple  as  to  lie  within 
the  range  of  any  man's  ability.  Here  was  a  place 
where  there  had  been  a  kink,  and  he  had  worried 
with  it  day  after  day,  carrying  the  sentences  about 
in  his  mind;  and  now  at  a  glance  he  saw  where  the 
wording  might  have  been  improved.  He  was 
afraid  that  he  had  been  too  simple,  too  close  to  the 
soil;  in  seeking  the  natural  he  was  almost  sure  that 
he  had  found  the  tiresome.  He  got  up. 

"Where  are  you  going?"  Warren  asked. 

"Oh,  out  somewhere,  to  get  away  from  this  poor 
hunch-back."  He  smiled  sadly  at  the  book. 

"Hunch-back?  Why,  it's  a  giant.  Look,  here's 
a  jolt  like  a  wagon  running  over  a  root.  It's  all 


276  OLD  EBENEZER 

right.  And  I  want  to  take  one  out  to  Nancy,  and 
when  she  reflects  that  a  friend  of  mine  wrote  it,  her 
position  will  be  defined.  She  can't  help  it.  It 
makes  no  difference  whether  a  woman  can  read  or 
not,  a  book  catches  her.  Ain't  you  going  to  send 
one  to  Miss  Eva?" 

"Yes,  I  believe  I  will." 

"Well,  scribble  in  one  and  I'll  send  it  right  now, 
by  the  boy.  It's  not  right  to  let  such  things  get 
cold.  Is  that  all?"  he  asked  when  Lyman  had  writ 
ten  his  name  on  the  fly  leaf. 

"Yes,  that's  enough." 

"It  may  do  for  her,  but  I  want  you  to  spread  out 
a  whole  page  for  Nancy.  Say,  go  and  lie  down. 
You  look  like  a  ghost — going  up  and  down  the 
creek  at  night,  pulling  fellows  out.  But  wait. 
Give  Nancy's  book  a  whirl  first." 

Lyman  covered  the  fly-leaf  with  a  memory  of  Mt. 
Zion.  With  brightening  eyes  Warren  read  the 
lines.  "This  will  fetch  her,"  he  said.  "She  can't 
hold  out  against  it.  Let  me  see.  I  don't  know  but 
the  old  man  ought  to  have  one.  It  would  stimu 
late  him  mightily.  But  never  mind.  The  seeds 


OLD  EBENEZER  277 

are  enough  for  him.  It  won't  do  to  stimulate  him 
too  much  at  once." 

"Old  boy,"  said  Lyman,  "I  admire  your  enter 
prise,  it  is  a  bright  picture,  but  don't  go  out  there  so 
soon.  Wait  at  least  a  week.  If  she  finds  that  you 
are  too  anxious  it  might  prejudice  her  against  you." 

"I  don't  know  but  you  are  right.  '  I'll  send  the 
book  anyway.  But  say,  she's  got  a  cousin  Jerry 
and  I  don't  like  that  very  much.  I  never  saw  a  fel 
low  named  Jerry  that  wasn't  dangerous.  But  if 
you  say  wait,  I  will." 

"I  say  wait." 

"All  right,  then  wait  it  is,  but  I  don't  like  that 
Jerry  idea.  What  sounds  more  devilish  than  'Cou 
sin  Jerry.'  Sort  of  an  insinuating,  raspberry  jam 
sound.  But  I'll  wait.  Go  on  and  lie  down." 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 
A  GENTLEMAN 


Two  days  later  Lyman  was  sitting  in  his  office, 
musing  over  a  pink  note  from  Eva,  thanking  him 
for  the  book,  when  Zeb  Sawyer  tapped  at  the  door. 
Lyman  bade  him  enter  and  he  stepped  forward  with 
a  limp.  He  sat  down  before  saying  a  word,  took 
out  a  handkerchief  and  wiped  his  face. 

"Haven't  you  got  out  of  bed  rather  soon?"  Ly 
man  asked. 

"No,  I  reckon  not,  though  the  doctor  told  me  to 
lie  there  awhile  longer.  But  I  couldn't  —  I  wanted 
to  come  to  see  you.  I  am  not  much  of  a  writer,"  he 
added,  looking  about,  "but  I  want  to  write  an  ar 
ticle  for  your  paper.  I  want  to  tell  the  public  what 
a  wolf  I've  been.  And  it  was  mostly  owing  to 
liquor.  I  shot  a  man  once  when  I  was  about  half 

drunk,  and  nearly  every  mean  thing  I  ever  did  I 
can  trace  to  whisky.  I  don't  often  get  what  you 
might  call  drunk,  but  I  generally  go  about  with  a 
few  drinks  and  that  makes  me  mean.  Will  you 
print  the  article?" 

(278) 


OLD  EBENEZER 


279 


"No ;  let  it  all  go.  We  all  do  wrong  at  times ;  we 
all  have  little  meannesses,  like  rheumatic  pains  in 
bad  weather." 

"Well,  is  there  anything  I  can  do  to  prove — to 
prove — you  know  what  I  mean." 

"Yes,  you  can  be  gentler  toward  man,  remem 
bering  that  there  is  something  good  in  every  one." 

"I  believe  that  more  than  I  used  to,"  said  Saw 
yer,  mopping  his  perspiring  face.  "I  have  laughed 
at  preachers,  and  I  hated  you,  but  you  came  along 
and  showed  me  that,  whether  a  man  professes  it  or 
not,  there  is  something  in  the  doctrine  of  mercy  and 
forgiveness.  I  don't  think  I  ever  prayed  with  my 
heart  till  this  morning,  and  then  I  prayed  to  be  for 
given  for  my  meanness ;  and  it  seemed  to  me  that  if 
you  would  forgive  me,  the  Higher  Power  would. 
I  drove  over  to  mother's  before  I  came  here  and  I 
told  her  how  mean  I  had  been,  and  it  struck  her 
to  the  heart  with  grief,  but  when  I  told  her  that  I 
was  going  to  be  a  better  man  and  follow  in  my 
father's  footsteps,  she  cried  for  joy.  She  is  so 
shaken  with  palsy  that  she  can't  write,  but  she  man 
aged  to  write  this  and  she  told  me  to  give  it  to 


280  OLD  EBENEZER 

you."  He  handed  Lyman  a  piece  of  paper,  and  on 
it  were  the  words:  "God  will  bless  you." 

"She  didn't  think  it  would  disturb  you  so,  or  I 
am  sure  she  wouldn't  have  sent  it,"  he  said,  looking 
at  Lyman. 

"Tell  her,"  said  Lyman,  "that  her  blessing  alone 
is  more — give  her  my  kindest  regards,"  he  added, 
with  an  effort. 

Sawyer  wiped  his  eyes.  "I  went  to  another 
place  before  coming  here,"  he  said.  "I  went  over 
to  the  bank  and  waited  till  McElwin  came,  and  I 
had  a  talk  with  him.  I  told  him  that  his  daughter 
could  never  care  for  me,  and  that  even  if  you  should 
sign  the  petition  I  would  refuse  to  recognize  his  au 
thority  in  trying  to  compel  her  to  marry  me.  She 
is  in  every  way  above  me,  so  far  beyond  my  reach 
that  I  don't  love  her.  I  have  to  go  to  another 
place — the  court  house.  I  am  going  to  surrender 
myself  to  the  law  and  be  punished  for  that  White 
Cap  affair.  I  am  going  to  acknowledge  the  whole 
thing." 

"No,"  said  Lyman.  "The  law  knows  well 
enough  what  was  done  and  who  did  it.  And,  be 
sides,  your  old  mother — " 


OLD  EBENEZER  281 

"Yes/*  Sawyer  broke  in,  "but  I  thought  it  might 

be  kept  from  her." 

* 
"No,  some  one  would  tell  her,  some  over-zealous 

friend.     Let  it  drop." 

"Your  word  is  law  with  me.  And  now  I  hope 
you  won't  feel  hurt  if  I  ask  you  something?" 

"The  time  for  you  and  me  to  hurt  each  other  is 
passed,"  said  Lyman. 

"I  thank  you  for  saying  that.  You  are  a  man  if 
I  ever  met  one.  And  how  did  you  get  the  name  of 
being  desperate?" 

"I  simply  punished  an  over-bearing  bully  and  my 
act  was  exaggerated." 

"They  always  exaggerate  such  things  in  this 
country.  But  that's  not  what  I  wanted  to  ask  you. 
It's  this:  Do  you  need  any  money?  now  don't  feel 
hurt  ;  do  you  need  any,  and,  if  you  do,  won't  you 
let  me  lend  it  to  you  for  a  year  or  so  without  inter 
est  ?  " 

"My  dear  fellow,"  said  Lyman,  "my  affairs  have 
prospered  wonderfully  of  late.  It's  a  singular  po 
sition  for  me  to  be  in,  but  I  don't  need  money." 

"I  was  in  hopes  you  did.  I  told  McElwin  just 
now  that  your  check  would  be  good  as  long  as  I 


282  OLD  EBENEZER 

had  any  money  at  his  bank,  and  it  made  him  wink, 
but  before  T  went  out  he  acknowledged  that  you 
were  about  the  truest  sort  of  a  man  he  ever  ran 
against.  You  have  educated  us  all.  And  now  as 
to  a  more  delicate  matter.  I  don't  know  what  Eva 
thinks  of  you,  or  what  you  think  of  her,  but  I  be 
lieve  that  the  old  man  would  be  willing  to  recognize 
the  law  as  young  Bostic  administered  it.  But  we 
won't  talk  about  that,  and  I  ought  not  to  have  men 
tioned  it.  Is  Mr.  Warren  out  there?  I  want  to 
see  him  a  moment." 

He  shook  hands  with  Lyman  and  they  parted 
friends.  Shortly  after  Sawyer  went  out,  Warren 
came  running  into  the  room.  "Old  Billy  Fate  is 
trying  himself,"  he  cried.  "What  do  you  think  has 
happened?  That  fellow  Sawyer  has  subscribed  for 
fifty  copies  of  the  paper,  for  one  year,  and  has  paid 
for  them  in  advance.  He  has  put  down  uncles, 
aunts,  cousins — but  there's  one  thing  about  it  I 
don't  like.  That  fellow  Jerry,  Nancy's  cousfn,  is  a 
sort  of  tenth  rate  cousin  to  Sawyer,  and  he  has  put 
him  down.  Jerry  Dabbs.  Think  of  that  poor  girl 
becoming  Nancy  Dabbs.  There  ought  to  be  a  law 
against  such  outrages.  And  now  he'll  read  your 


OLD  EBENEZER  283 

stuff  and  commit  the  odd  phrases  to  memory  and 
give  them  to  her.  I  don't  see  how  I  can  keep  away 
from  there  for  a  week.  I'm  going  out  there  Friday. 
Well,  after  all,  I  guess  it  was  better  that  you  didn't 
drown  that  fellow.  Fifty  subscribers  are  not 
picked  up  every  day.  I  don't  know  but  sometimes 
it  pays  to  let  revenge  go.5' 

"It  pays  the  heart,"  Lyman  replied.  "Did  you 
ever  think  that  when  the  heart  was  paid  the  whole 
world  is  out  of  debt?" 

"I  never  thought  of  it,  but  I  guess  you  are  right. 
I  met  the  express  agent  this  morning  and  he  tipped 
his  hat  to  me.  And  it's  all  owing  to  you.  Every 
body  is  talking  about  you.  Where  are  you  going?" 
he  asked  as  Lyman  got  up. 

"One  day,  while  walking  about  aimlessly,"  said 
Ionian,  "I  stopped  in  front  of  a  house  down  the 
street  not  far  from  here,  and  saw  a  boy  digging  in 
the  yard.  At  the  window  I  saw  the  pale  face  of  a 
man.  He  lay  there  to  catch  the  last  rays  of  the 
world,  slowly  fanning  himself.  I  asked  the  boy 
what  he  was  doing  and  he  said  that  he  was  digging 
a  grave  for  his  father.  The  pale  face  at  the  window 
haunted  me.  I  made  inquiry  and  found  that  a  very 


284  OLD  EBENEZER 

poor  family  inhabited  the  house,  and  I  have  called 
there  several  times  to  talk  with  the  man.  I  am  go 
ing  there  now." 

"I  know,  he's  a  fellow  named  Hillet.  He's  got 
consumption.  I  send  him  the  paper  free.  Give 
him  my  regards,  please,  and  tell  him  that  I  have  put 
him  down  as  a  life  subscriber." 

"It  won't  be  for  long,"  said  Lyman,  as  he  turned 
away. 

The  sun  had  baked  the  ground  and  the  strange 
child  had  suspended  his  labor,  but  heaps  of  earth 
beneath  the  bushes  showed  that  he  had  continued 
his  work  as  long  as  his  rude  spade  was  adequate  to 
a  disturbance  of  the  soil.  The  boy  looked  up  as 
the  gate  latch  clicked,  and  stood  surveying  Lyman 
with  his  feet  far  apart  and  his  hands  in  his  pockets. 
Lyman  spoke  to  him,  and  bringing  a  nail  out  of  his 
pocket  he  held  it  out  to  the  visitor  as  an  offering  of 
his  hospitality.  Lyman  tossed  him  a  piece  of 
money;  he  caught  it  up  and  with  a  shout  he  disap 
peared  in  the  shrubbery.  The  visitor's  knock  at 
the  door  was  attended  by  a  frail,  tired  woman.  She 
stood  with  her  hand  on  the  door  as  if  meekly  to  tell 
the  comer  that  he  had  doubtless  made  a  mistake  in 


OLD  EBENEZER  285 

the  house.  He  bowed  and  asked  if  she  were  Mrs. 
Hillit,  and  when  she  had  nodded  an  acknowledg 
ment,  with  no  word,  though  her  thin  lips  moved,  he 
informed  her  that  he  desired  to  see  her  husband. 
She  preceded  him  into  the  sick  man's  room. 

"A  gentleman  wishes  to  see  you,"  she  said. 

The  sufferer  turned  his  wasted  face  toward  Ly- 
man  and  asked  him  to  sit  down.  Then  followed  a 
few  words  of  explanation. 

"I  am  very  glad  you  came,"  said  Hillit,  speaking 
slowly  and  with  effort.  "We  have  been  getting 
your  paper  for  some  time  and  it  has  been  great  com 
pany  for  us.  The  neighbors  have  been  very  kind, 
but  when  a  man  hangs  on  this  way  he  wears  every 
body  out." 

The  woman  had  left  the  room,  and  Lyman  was 
relieved  to  find  that  she  had  not  remained  to  hear 
her  husband's  hopeless  words.  "You  ought  not 
to  feel  that  way/'  he  said. 

The  consumptive  withdrew  his  wistful  gaze  from 
the  bar  of  sunlight  that  lay  across  the  window  sill, 
and  looked  at  Lyman.  "I  am  in  a  position  to  say 
what  I  think,  and  that's  what  I  do  think,"  he 
answered.  But  I  do  hope  it  won't  be  much  longer. 


286  OLD  EBENEZER 

I  see  by  the  paper  that  the  farmers  have  been 
praying  for  rain.  I  have  been  praying  for 
light,  light,  light — all  the  time  praying  for  light. 
When  a  passing  cloud  hides  the  sun  my  heart 
grows  heavier,  and  when  the  night  comes  I  feel 
the  shadow  of  eternity  resting  cold  upon  me." 

In  reply  to  this  Lyman  could  say  nothing;  he 
simply  said:  "You  haven't  lived  here  long,  I  un 
derstand." 

"Not  long.  I  came  from  the  city  to  look  for  a 
place  where  I  could  die  cheap.  I  lost  my  place — 
my  brethren  lost  their  place — we  were  swept  away 
by  the  machine.  I  am  a  compositor." 

"Oh,  are  you?  Then  I  am  more  than  glad  I 
came." 

"And  I  am  more  than  glad  to  see  you.  I  have 
seen  you  stop  at  the  fence,  and  I  managed  one  day 
to  learn  your  name.  You  are  making  a  name  for 
yourself;  I  have  read  your  work  at  night  and  there 
is  sun-light  in  it.  Ah,  the  old  craft  is  gone,"  he 
said.  "We  sang  like  crickets,  laughing  at  the  idea 
that  a  frost  might  come  in  the  shape  of  a  machine 
to  set  type ;  we  worked  three  days  a  week  and  spent 
our  money,  with  no  thought  of  the  destroyer  slowly 


OLD  EBENEZER  287 

forming  fingers  of  steel  under  the  lamp  light.  But 
the  machine  came.  It  was  like  the  bursting  of  a 
shell,  and  our  army,  the  most  intelligent  body  ol 
craftsmen  ever  known,  was  scattered  over  the  face 
of  the  land.  Once  in  a  while  I  had  a  serious  mo 
ment,  and  I  kept  up  my  life  insurance,  but  what  is 
to  become  of  the  other  women  and  children  the 
Lord  only  knows." 

'The  picturesque  old  philosopher  known  as  the 
tramp  printer  is  only  a  memory  now/'  said  Lyman. 
"I  have  seen  him  strolling  along  the  road,  sore  of 
foot,  stubble-faced,  almost  ragged,  hungry,  but 
with  a  cynical  head  full  of  contempt  for  the  man  of 
regular  habits.  I  recall  one  particularly — Barney 
Caldwell." 

i'What?"  cried  Hillit,  raising  upon  his  elbows, 
"did  you  know  old  Barney?  He  was  once  foreman 
of  an  office  in  Cincinnati  where  I  was  a  cub.  He 
was  comparatively  young  then,  but  they  called  him 
the  old  man.  And  what  a  disciplinarian!  He  used 
to  say,  'Boys,  if  you  get  drunk  with  me  it  is  your 
own  look  out,  and  if  you  don't  walk  the  chalk  line 
that's  my  look  out.  Don't  expect  favors,  because 
you  happen  to  be  a  good  fellow.'  One  day,  he 


288  OLD  EBENEZER 

came  into  the  office,  and  after  starting  to  put  on  his 
apron  he  hesitated,  and  turning  to  a  fellow  named 
Hicks,  he  said:  'Charley,  I've  a  notion  to  be  a  gen 
tleman  once  more/  Then  I  heard  a  man  standing 
near  me  say:  There'll  be  a  vacant  foremanship  in 
this  office  within  five  minutes.  The  old  man  is  go 
ing  to  take  to  the  road.'  And  he  did.  He  resigned 
his  position  and  walked  out.  Life  was  worth  living 
in  those  days,  Mr.  Lyman." 

Just  at  this  moment  Mrs.  Hillit  appeared  at  the 
door.  'The  young  lady  who  brought  the  flowers 
has  come  again,"  she  said.  Lyman  looked  up  and 
his  heart  leaped,  for,  in  the  hall-way,  stood  Eva  with 
her  hands  full  of  roses.  She  turned  pale  at  seeing 
him,  but  with  the  color  returning  she  came  forward 
and  held  out  her  hand.  Hillit's  wasted  eye,  slow  in 
movement  but  quick  in  conception,  divined  the 
meaning  of  the  changing  color  of  her  face,  and 
when  his  wife  had  brought  a  vase  for  the  roses,  he 
said:  "I  hope  you  two  will  talk  just  as  if  I  wasn't 
here.  And  I  won't  be  here  long,  you  know." 

"William,"  his  wife  spoke  up,  turning  from  the 
table  whereon  she  had  placed  the  young  woman's 


OLD  EBENEZER  289 

contribution,  "you  promised  me  that  you  wouldn't 
talk  that  way  any  more." 

"I  forgot  this  time,"  he  replied, 

"Mr.  Lyman,"  said  Eva,  "I  want  to  thank  you 
again  for  the  book.  I  have  read  it  twice,  and  T 
hope  you  won't  think  I  gush  when  I  say  it  is 
charming.  One  idea  was  uppermost  in  my  mind 
as  I  read  it — that  I  had  never  before  heard  the 
beating  of  so  many  hearts;  and  the  atmosphere  is 
so  sweet  that,  more  than  once,  I  fancied  that  the 
paper  must  have  been  scented." 

"Oh,  come  now,"  Lyman  cried,  "you  are  guying 
me." 

"It  does  sound  like  it,  I  admit,  but  really  I  am 
not.  And  I  don't  bring  you  my  opinion  alone. 
Last  night  I  induced  father  to  read  a  chapter.  He 
read  chapter  after  chapter,  and  when  I  asked  him 
what  he  thought,  he  simply  said,  'Beautiful/ 
Wasn't  that  a  conquest?" 

"It  was  a  great  kindness." 

"But  why  should  you  be  surprised?  Haven't  you 
worked  year  after  year  and  now  should  a  just  re 
ward  come  as  an  astonishment?" 

"It's  all  luck,"  said  the  consumptive,  looking  at 


OLD  EBENEZER 

his  thin  hands  lying  on  the  counterpane.  "If  a  man 
has  luck  early  in  life,  he's  likely  to  pay  for  it  later; 
and  if  he  has  bad  luck  till  along  toward  middle  life, 
the  chances  are  that  he  will  pick  up.  I  had  my 
luck  early;  I  sang  my  song  and  finished  it."  His 
wife  looked  at  him  beseechingly.  "I'm  not  com 
plaining/'  he  added.  "It's  no  more  than  just.  You 
and  the  young  lady  were  speaking  about  a  book, 
Mr.  Lyman.  How  long  did  it  take  you  to  write  it?" 

"It  seems  now  that  I  had  to  live  it,"  Lyman  an 
swered.  "The  actual  work  did  not  take  long,  but 
the  dreams,  the  night-mares,  were  continued  year 
after  year.  To  be  condemned  to  write  a  conscien 
tious  book  is  a  severe  trial,  almost  a  cruel  punish 
ment,  and  I  am  not  surprised  that  the  critics,  sen 
tenced  to  read  it,  should  look  upon  it  as  an  addi 
tional  pain  thrust  into  their  lives." 

The  talk  wandered  into  the  discussion  of  books 
in  general.  The  young  woman  told  of  the  great 
libraries  she  had  visited  abroad.  The  printer  had 
helped  to  set  up  a  Bible  and  he  gave  an  amusing  ac 
count  of  the  mistakes  that  had  crept  into  the  proof- 
sheets.  A  careless  fellow  had  made  one  of  the 
Prophets  stricken  with  grip  instead  of  grief,  and  an- 


OLD  EBENEZER  291 

other  one  had  the  type  declare  that  Moses  lifted  up 
the  sea  serpent  in  the  wilderness.  The  bar  of  sun 
light  passed  beyond  the  window  ledge  and  the  sick 
man  fell  into  silence.  Eva  rose  to  go.  Lyman 
said  that  he  would  walk  a  part  of  the  way  with  her. 
She  smiled  but  said  nothing.  They  bade  the  in 
valid  and  his  wife  good-bye  and  passed  out  into  the 
shaded  thoroughfare.  A  man  stared  at  them,  but  a 
woman  passed  with  merely  a  glance. 

"Even  in  a  village  a  wonder  wears  away  after 
awhile,"  said  Lyman.  "Yes,"  she  laughed,  "our 
strange  relationship  has  almost  ceased  to  be  an 
oddity." 

They  turned  into  a  lane.  He  helped  her  across  a 
rivulet  and  felt  her  hand  grow  warm  in  his  grasp. 
She  looked  up  at  him  and  his  blood  tingled.  He 
felt  a  sense  of  gladness  and  then  remembered  that 
she  had  praised  his  book.  It  was  a  victory  to  know 
that  it  had  broken  through  her  father's  hauberk  of 
prejudice.  He  spoke  of  Sawyer.  She  had  heard 
of  his  narrow  escape  from  drowning;  indeed,  he 
had  called  at  the  house. 

"He  did  not  hesitate  to  acknowledge  everything," 
she  said,  "and  I  never  liked  him  half  so  well  as  I 
did  today," 


292  OLD  EBENEZER 

"But  you  couldn't  like  him  well  enough  to  marry 
him,"  Lyman  was  weak  enough  to  say. 

"Oh,  no;  I  liked  him  because  he  acknowledged 
your  generosity,"  she  frankly  confessed.  Lyman 
had  weaknesses,  and  one  of  them  was  an 
under-appraisal  of  self.  At  times  and  in  some  men 
this  is  a  virtue,  but  more  often  it  is  a  crime  com 
mitted  against  one's  own  chance  of  prosperity.  The 
people's  candidate  is  the  man  who  loudest  avows 
his  fitness  for  the  office. 

"You  remember  last  Sunday  as  you  were  driving 
away  from  the  church — "  he  said. 

"Yes — "  she  answered,  walking  close  beside  him. 

"I  thought  I  saw  your  mother  reprimand  you  for 
urging  her  to  stay." 

"Yes.  She  was  half  inclined  to  yield  and  she 
was  really  scolding  herself  for  her  weakness." 

"You  went  away  without  congratulating  the 
preacher." 

"That  was  thoughtless.  We  have  sent  him  a  let 
ter  of  congratulation." 

"How  stately  your  house  looks  from  here;  how 
cool  and  restful." 

"I  used  to  take  great  pride  in  the  fact  that  I  lived 


OLD  EBENEZER  293 

there,  as  I  looked  at  the  humbler  homes  scattered 
about,  but  I  haven't  been  so  foolishly  proud  since 
I  came  to  know  you." 

"Then  that  is  where  we  must  have  fallen  apart. 
I  have  been  prouder  since  I  knew  you." 

"I  said  foolishly  proud,"  she  replied,  laughing. 

They  came  to  the  wooden  bridge.  "Well,  I  turn 
back  here,"  he  said,  halting  and  leaning  against  the 
rail. 

"Surely  there  would  be  no  harm  in  your  coming 
to  the  house,"  she  replied.  "You  are  my  protec 
tor/'  she  added,  with  a  smile.  He  was  beginning 
to  dislike  the  word,  and  now  he  felt  a  heaviness 
settle  upon  his  heart. 

"When  your  father  has  invited  me  as  a  friend  of 
the  family,  I  will  come,"  he  said,  leaning  over  and 
looking  down  into  the  water.  He  looked  up  and 
in  her  eyes  he  thought  he  saw  a  gentle  rebuke,  but 
it  was  gone  in  a  moment.  She  must  have  had  it  in 
her  mind  to  tell  him  that  he  ought  to  be  bolder, 
but  another  feeling  seemed  swiftly  to  come,  and  she 
said:  "Your  instinct  is  right."  She  held  out  her 
hand.  He  grasped  it,  looked  into  her  eyes,  turned 
about  and  hastened  toward  the  town. 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 
GONE  AWAY. 

A  few  days  later,  at  the  breakfast  table,  Mrs. 
Staggs  remarked  that  Mrs.  McElwin  and  her 
daughter  were  gone  on  a  visit  to  friends  and  would 
be  absent  several  weeks.  Lyman  did  not  think  to 
disguise  his  concern.  With  an  abruptness  that 
made  the  cups  totter  in  the  saucers  he  shoved  him 
self  back  from  the  table  and  fell  into  a  deep  muse. 
Why  should  the  girl  have  gone  away  just  at  that 
particular  time?  Was  it  a  blow  aimed  at  him?  He 
had  wanted  to  tell  her  something.  It  was  in  the 
nature  of  a  confession,  not  startling,  not,  as  he  now 
viewed  it,  beyond  a  commonplace  acknowledgment, 
and  he  wondered  why  he  should  have  suppressed  it. 
He  wanted  simply  to  tell  her  that,  at  the  time  when 
the  joking  ceremony  had  been  performed,  he  had 
looked  at  her,  with  his  mind  reverting  to  the  sick 
man  whose  face  he  had  seen  that  day  at  the  window, 
and  had  thought  of  the  charm  she  could  throw 
upon  the  gloom-weighted  scene  should  she  step 

(294) 


OLD  EBENEZER  295 

into  the  room.  This  had  come  to  pass;  he  had  be 
held  it,  and  his  mind  had  been  sweetened  by  it;  he 
had  walked  nearly  all  the  way  home  with  her  and 
had  not  mentioned  it.  He  had  been  too  talkative 
as  a  protector  and  too  silent  as  a  man.  And,  all  day, 
there  was  a  bitter  taste  in  his  mouth,  and,  at  even 
ing,  as  he  sat  alone  in  the  office  he  cut  himself  with 
a  cynical  smile.  Warren  came  in,  bright  and 
brusque. 

"Well,  I've  just  got  back  from  old  man  Pitt's/' 
said  he.  "I  couldn't  wait  any  longer,  so  I  went. 
The  old  man  was  at  work  in  the  field  and  I  went 
out  and  told  him  not  to  disturb  himself.  The  old 
lady  was  weaving  a  rag  carpet,  and  I  told  her  not  to 
let  the  loom  fall  into  silence.  The  girl  was  churn 
ing  and  I  told  her  to  keep  at  it.  Ah,  what  a  pic 
ture,  that  girl  at  the  churn.  Her  red  calico  dress 
was  tucked  up,  and  her  sleeves  were  rolled,  and  her 
hair  had  been  grabbed  in  a  hurry  and  fastened  with 
a  thorn.  She  blushed  and  put  her  hand  to  her  hair 
as  if  she  wanted  to  fix  it,  but  I  cried  to  her  not  to 
tamper  with  it.  I  said  that  she  might  have  gold 
pins,  but  couldn't  improve  on  that  thorn;  I  swore 
that  the  finest  hairdresser  in  the  world  would  spoil 


OLD  EBENEZER 

it;  and  she  laughed  and  I  saw  the  inside  of  her 
mouth—" 

"A  rose  with  the  bud  pinched  out,"  said  Lyman. 

"How  did  you  know?  Did  you  ever  see  the  in 
side  of  her  mouth?  You've  hit  it  all  right.  Yes, 
sir,  that's  what  you  have.  Well,  I  took  hold  of  the 
churn  dasher  and  helped  her,  and  she  pretended  to 
be  afraid  that  we  might  turn  the  churn  over,  and 
our  hands  came  together  and  I  felt  like  throwing 
up  my  hat  and  dancing  right  there." 

"Did  you  find  out  as  to  how  she  stands?" 

"Lyman,  would  you  believe  that  I  weakened?  I 
put  both  my  hands  on  her  hair  and  I  snatched  a 
kiss  from  her,  but  she  looked  up  at  me  and  I  weak 
ened;  I  couldn't  ask  her.  She  wasn't  scared;  she 
was  astonished;  and  when  she  looked  down,  I 
kissed  the  back  of  her  neck,  standing  there  in  full 
view  of  the  world,  and  she  shivered  as  if  she  was 
cold,  but  her  face  was  scarlet." 

"Do  you  call  it  weakening  when  you  grab  a  wo 
man  and  kiss  her?  I  should  think  that  was  rather 
strengthening." 

"I  didn't  find  out  how  she  stood,  that  is,  I  did 
not  get  it  in  words,  so  I  must  have  weakened.  But 


OLD  EBENEZER  297 

I  think  it's  all  right.  After  dinner,  while  we  were 
in  the  'big  room/  she  showed  me  a  photograph  of  a 
yap  and  said  that  it  was  Cousin  Jerry.  Termit  me/ 
said  I,  bowing,  and  I  sailed  the  picture  out  into  the 
yard  where  the  dog  lay  asleep  in  the  sun.  And 
there  it  lay,  with  the  June  bugs  buzzing  about  it,  till 
I  relented  and  went  after  it.  I  weakened  in  going 
after  it,  but  she  pouted  and  I  gave  in.  I  reckon 
that,  after  all,  it's  better  not  to  be  so  headlong. 
Many  a  fellow  would  have  rushed  the  thing  and 
spoiled  it  right  there.  I  am  learning  patience  from 
you,  Lyman." 

"Well,  don't  keep  on  learning,  or  you'll  get  the 
worst  of  it.  A  woman  will  pardon  a  thing  that's 
rash  where  she  would  look  with  scorn  upon  a  gentle 
stupidity.  You  bite  like  a  black  bass  and  I'm  a 
sucker;  you  leap  up  into  the  sunshine,  and  I  lie 
under  a  rotting  log.  I  am  inclined  to  think,  old 
boy,  that  there  is  a  good  deal  of  what  they  call  the 
chump  about  me.  You  have  gone  to  Pitt's  and 
said  more  than  you  intended  to  say.  And  look  at 
me:  I  have  not  said  half  of  what  I  ought  to  have 
said.  You  know  where  to  find  your  girl,  but  I  have 
let  mine  go  away.  And  I  know  now  that  she  went 


298  OLD  EBENEZER 

away  in  disgust.  However,  I  ought  not  to  say 
that.  It  might  imply  that  she  was  impatient  with 
me  and  that  would  mean  that  she  was  waiting  for 
me  to  say  something,  when  in  fact  I  don't  believe 
she  thinks  of  me  at  all,  except  as  her  protector 
and  friend." 

Warren  sat  nibbling  at  the  stem  of  a  corn-cob 
pipe.  He  stretched  forth  his  legs  and  chewed  upon 
the  stem  till  it  cracked  between  his  teeth. 

"This  disposition  to  under-estimate  yourself  is 
where  the  whole  trouble  lies,"  said  Warren.  "It  is 
the  only  weakness  I  have  ever  been  able  to  find  in 
your  character.  Don't  you  think  it  must  be  on  ac 
count  of  some  sort  of  work  you  have  done? 
Haven't  you  at  some  time  been  in  a  position  where 
everybody  could  come  along  and  boss  you?" 

"I  waited  in  a  dining-room  to  pay  my  way 
through  college.  And  you  have  struck  it.  Yes, 
sir,  you've  struck  it  on  the  top  of  the  head.  If  a 
man  has  once  stood  as  a  servant,  he  is,  if  at  all  sen 
sitive,  ever  afterward  afflicted  with  a  sort  of  self-re 
pression.  It  is  a  sense  of  independence  that  makes 
the  cow-boy  aggressive;  it  is  the  wear  of  discipline 
that  makes  the  regular  soldier,  long  after  quitting 


OLD  EBENEZER  299 

the  army,  appear  humble.  To  wear  a  white  apron 
and  to  carry  a  bowl  of  soup  across  a  dining-room, 
one  must  not  have  had  a  high  spirit  or  must  have 
stabbed  it.  I  stabbed  mine." 

"And  yet  you  are  as  proud  as  the  devil,"  said 
Warren. 

"Yes,  and  I  am  not  afraid  of  a  pistol,  but  I  fancy 
that  anyone  could  drive  me  with  a  teaspoon.  If  I 
am  ever  the  father  of  a  boy  I  will  teach  him  to 
work,  to  cut  down  trees,  to  dig  ditches,  to  do  any 
thing  rather  than  to  wait  on  another  man." 

"But  you  don't  regret  having  made  the  sacrifice 
to  get  the  education,  do  you?" 

"You  over-rate  my  learning.  I  don't  know  any 
thing  thoroughly.  I  sailed  through  with  the  class 
and  put  myself  in  a  position  to  learn,  that's  about 
all.  But  I  have  acquired  one  great  piece  of  knowl 
edge,  which,  had  I  not  received  a  regular  training, 
might  have  seemed  to  me  as  the  arrogance  of 
ignorance,  and  that  is  the  fact  that  profound  knowl 
edge  hurts  the  imagination.  Of  course  I  had  read 
this — but  ascribed  it  to  prejudice.  I  know  now. 
however,  that  it  is  true;  and  I  would  take  care  not 
to  over-educate  the  bov  with  an  instinct  for  art.  His 


800  OLD  EBENEZER 

technique  would  destroy  his  creation.  And  take  it 
in  the  matter  of  writing.  I  believe  in  correctness, 
but  it  is  a  fact  that  when  a  writer  becomes  a  purist 
he  conforms  but  does  not  create.  After  all,  I  be 
lieve  that  what's  within  a  man  will  come  out  regard 
less  of  his  training.  There  may  be  mute,  inglor 
ious  Miltons,  but  Art  struggles  for  expression. 
The  German  woman  worked  in  a  field  and  had  no 
books,  but  she  brought  tears  to  the  eyes  of  the 
Empress,  with  a  little  poem,  dug  up  out  of  the 
ground." 

'That  sounds  all  right  enough,"  said  Warren, 
"but  I  don't  know  about  its  truth.  It  strikes  me — 
and  I  like  to  think  about  it — that,  if  Nancy  had  been 
schooled  and  all  that,  she  could  have  written  about 
the  sweetest  poetry  that  ever  was  sent  out." 

Lyman  smiled  at  his  friend.  "Education  would 
undoubtedly  assist  her  in  the  writing  of  verses," 
said  he.  "The  log  school-house  would  have  given 
her  the  expression  for  poetry." 

"May  be  so.  But  I  don't  want  her  to  write. 
She'd  fill  up  the  paper  and  hurt  the  circulation. 
Sad  day  for  a  newspaper  man  when  his  wife  fills  up 
the  paper,  By  the  way,  I  forgot  to  tell  you  that  I 


OLD  EBENEZER  301 

had  a  talk  with  the  old  man.  I  went  out  to  the  field 
with  him  after  dinner;  he  was  cutting  oak 
sprouts  from  among  the  young  corn  and  we  had 
quite  a  chat.  I  reminded  him  of  the  fact  that  I 
hadn't  known  his  daughter  long,  but  I  gave  him  to 
understand  that  I  was  all  right.  I  told  him  that 
the  express  company  had  a  high  regard  for  me, 
and  this  made  him  open  his  eyes.  He  gradually 
caught  my  drift,  and  then  he  leaned  on  his  hoe  and 
laughed  till  the  tears  ran  down  his  face;  and  I  didn't 
have  anything  to  lean  on,  so  I  took  hold  of  the  hoe 
handle  and  laughed  too.  After  awhile  the  absurd 
ity  of  the  situation  struck  him,  both  of  us  leaning 
on  a  hoe,  laughing  fit  to  kill  ourselves,  and  then  he 
shook  me  off.  But  I  wasn't  to  be  put  off  this  way. 
I  told  him  I  guessed  I  had  to  have  some  place  to 
laugh,  and  I  grabbed  the  hoe-handle  again,  and 
went  on  with  my  tittering.  'Young  fellow/  he 
said,  'you  just  about  suit  me.  You  won't  stay 
shuck  off,  and  that's  the  sort  of  a  man  that  gets  l 
next  to  me/  So  we  shook  hands  and  without  an 
other  word  on  the  tender  subject  we  went  on 
talking  about  something  else.  Oh,  he's  all  right, 
and  the  girl  is  too,  I  think.  I  don't  know  about 


302 


OLD  EBENEZER 


the  mother,  but  she  is  blue-eyed  and  tender-looking 
and  I  think  she'll  give  in.  Have  you  seen  the 
banker  lately?" 

"I  met  him  in  the  street  this  morning  and  spoke 
to  him,  and  he  bowed  very  politely.  I've  been 
thinking.  Suppose  my  serial  story  should  be  ac 
cepted  and  they  should  send  me  a  check.  How 
could  I  get  it  cashed  without  going  to  his  bank? 
And  if  any  royalties  should  come  from  the  sale  of 
my  book,  what  then?  There's  no  other  way  open 
and  I'll  have  to  do  business  through  his  bank." 

'That  will  be  all  right,  if  the  check  should  hap 
pen  to  be  large  enough.  Anyway,  we  don't  do 
business  with  a  bank  because  we  like  the  owner 
of  the  concern.  Oh,  I  didn't  tell  you  that  we  have 
an  account  there  already.  We  have  about  two  hun 
dred  and  fifty  dollars  over  there  and  we  don't  owe  a 
cent." 

"Good!"  Lyman  cried,  not  because  of  the  money, 
but  that  Warren  had  broken  the  ice. 

"Good;  I  should  say  it  is.  I  call  it  glorious. 
And  it  has  come  mainly  through  you.  Why,  when 
you  came  in  I  was  still  bleeding  under  the  heel,  you 
know." 


OLD  EBENEZER  303 

"It  has  been  your  business  management  and 
economy,  Warren.  I  have  done  nothing  but  scrib 
ble  at  odd  times — I  have  played  and  you  have 
worked." 

"That's  all  right." 

"No,  it  isn't  all  right.  Whatever  success  may 
come  to  this  paper  belongs  to  you.  What  there  is 
already  has  flowed  through  the  channel  of  your  en 
ergy,  and  I  am  not  going  to  claim  half  the  profits. 
The  plant  is  yours,  not  mine.  Without  you  the  pa 
per  could  not  have  lived  a  week." 

"We'll  fix  that  all  right.  But  say,  isn't  it  terrible 
to  wait.  I  don't  mind  work,  but  I  hate  to  wait,  and 
I  ought  not  to  go  out  yonder  again  before  day  after 
tomorrow." 

"What,  ought  not  to  go  before  day  after  tomor 
row!  You  ought  not  to  go  before  next  week." 

"Oh,  come,  now,  old  man,  don't  say  that.  This 
thing  of  waiting  is  awful.  I  think  I  could  stand  to 
be  hanged  if  they'd  do  it  at  once,  but  the  waiting 
would  put  me  out.  I  never  could  wait.  And  be 
sides  I  don't  believe  in  it.  One  day  I  saw  an  old 
man  at  a  soldiers'  home  and  I  asked  him  concern 
ing  his  prospects  and  he  said  that  he  was  waiting, 


304  OLD  EBENEZER 

and  when  I  asked  him  what  for,  he  said,  'to  die.' 
And  then  I  couldn't  help  but  ask  him  what  he  was 
going  to  do  then.  I  don't  believe  in  waiting  for 
anything;  my  idea  is  to  go  to  it  at  once." 

"Yes,  that's  all  very  well;  but  the  old  soldier  was 
right  after  all,  for  life  is  but  waiting  for  death." 

"No,"  said  Warren,  "life  is  a  constant  fight 
against  death,  and  we  don't  wait  so  long  if  we  are 
fighting.  If  I  thought  as  you  do,  I  couldn't  wait — 
I'd  have  to  go  out  and  hunt  up  death  at  once.  I 
reckon  you  are  low-spirited  today.  I'm  glad  I'm 
not  a  writer,  Lyman.  Writing  saps  all  a  man's 
spirit  and  leaves  him  no  nourishment." 

"I  have  always  regarded  the  necessity  to  write  as 
a  sad  infliction,"  Lyman  replied.  "A  man  steals 
from  himself  his  most  secret  beliefs  and  emotions 
and  puts  them  in  the  mouth  of  his  characters.  He 
is  a  sham." 

"You  ain't,  old  fellow." 

"I  am  a  fraud.    Where  are  you  going?" 

"I've  got  to  stir  about,"  Warren  answered.  "I 
have  to  think  when  I  sit  still  and  I  don't  want  to 
think.  The  truth  is,  I  want  to  know  how  she 
stands.  I  wish  I  had  a  picture  of  her  as  she  stood 


OLD  EBENEZER  305 

at  the  churn.  It  would  make  the  fortune  of  a 
painter.  Believe  I'll  get  up  a  prayer-meeting  at 
Mt.  Zion." 

"What,  you  get  up  a  prayer-meeting?" 

"Yes,  so  I  can  go  home  with  her  through  the 
woods.  I  think  that  after  a  season  of  prayer  and 
song  she  would  lean  toward  me." 

"Why  not  wait  for  a  thunder  storm  and  comfort 
her  between  flashes  of  lightning?" 

"I  wish  I  could  get  up  a  thunder  storm.  I'd  like 
for  that  girl  to  grab  me  and  choke  me  half  to  death. 
Well,  I've  got  to  stir  around." 

Warren  went  away,  and  during  all  the  evening 
Lyman  sat  picking  a  nervous  quarrel  with  himself. 


CHAPTER  XXX. 
HOME. 


Lyman  saw  nothing  of  Warren  the  next  day,  but 
on  the  day  following  he  strode  into  the  room, 
whistling  in  tuneless  good  humor. 

"It's  all  right,"  he  said,  as  he  sat  down.  "I  went 
out  there  and  found  her  at  the  churn.  I  said,  Took 
here,  you'll  drive  me  mad  if  you  don't  let  that  churn 
alone  —  I  mean  with  the  charm  of  the  position/ 
And  then  she  blushed,  and  I  would  have  grabbed  a 
kiss,  but  she  shied  to  one  side.  She  scolded  me 
somewhat  for  coming  so  soon.  She  said  that  peo 
ple  would  wonder  what  brought  me  out  that  way  so 
often.  I  told  her  that  if  people  had  any  sense  they 
wouldn't  wonder  long  —  they  would  know  that  she 
had  brought  me  there.  Then  I  came  out  square- 
toed.  I  told  her  that  I  had  discovered  early  in  the 
action  that  I  loved  her,  that  I  had  waited  long 
enough  to  be  sure  that  it  was  not  a  passing  fancy, 
but  a  genuine  case  of  love.  I  told  her  that  her 
cousin  Jerry  might  believe  in  waiting,  but  that  I  did 

(306) 


OLD  EBENEZER  307 

not.     Then  how  she  did  blush  and  shy.     I  looked 
away,  to  give  her  a  chance  to  get  herself  together 
again,  looked  out  into  the  field  where  the  old  man 
was  at  work,  and  peeped  through  a  crack  at  the  old  . 
lady  thumping  the  carpet  loom.     I  didn't  wait  too 
long,  though ;  I  didn't  want  the  girl  to  have  time  to 
cool  off  completely,  so  I  said,  looking  at  her.     'I 
want  you  to  marry  me,  you  understand;  with  my 
prospects  I  could  go  throughout  the  country  and 
pick  up  most  any  woman  who  is  struck  on  writing 
verses  and  essays,  but  I  don't  want  one  of  them — I 
want  you,  and  I  want  your  promise  to  tell  that  fel 
low  Jerry  to  go  to  the  deuce,  as  far  as  you  are  con 
cerned;  and  I  want  you  to  promise  to  wait  for  me  a 
week  or  two  and  then  be  my  wife.'     Then  I  thought 
of  how  tedious  it  would  be  to  wait  so  long  and  I 
corrected   my   statement   by   telling   her   that   we 
needn't  wait  at  all.     How  she  did  flounce  in  sur 
prise.     She  said  she  had  no  idea  that  I  cared  any 
thing   for   her.     But   I    stopped   her   right   there. 
That  ain't  the  question/  I  said,  'do  you  care  any 
thing  for  me?    That's  the  question/      At.  this,  she 
hung  her  head  and  said  that  she  didn't  know,  ex 
actly,  but  that  she  would  think  about  it.     1  don't 


308  OLD  EBENEZER 

want  any  thinking/  said  I.  'What  I  want  is  for  you 
to  tell  me  right  now.'  Then  she  said  something 
about  that  fool  cousin.  And  I  told  her  that  I 
would  shoot  him  on  sight  and  look  for  him  at  that. 
I  started  to  go  away  and  she  caught  hold  of  me  and 
said  that  if  I  promised  not  to  shoot  Jerry  she  would 
tell  me  the  next  day.  'You  tell  me  now,'  said  I,  'or 
that  fellow  will  be  a  corpse  before  morning.'  Then 
she  agreed  that  she  thought  she  did  love  me  a  little. 
I  told  her  that  a  little  wouldn't  satisfy  me — I  didn't 
want  a  breeze,  I  wanted  a  storm.  She  said  I  was 
hard  to  satisfy.  She  didn't  think  she  could  please 
me;  she  knew  that  she  didn't  amount  to  much  in 
the  eyes  of  town  people.  She  had  hoped  so  much 
to  please  me,  and  now  she  was  grieved  at  her  disap 
pointment.  She  acknowledged  that  she  was  afraid 
to  love  me,  and  I  told  her  that  she  needn't  have  any 
feat  and  that  she  might  let  herself  out  at  once.  And 
after  a  good  deal  of  talk  she  did.  I  put  her 
arms  around  my  neck  and  made  her  squeeze 
me,  and  I  called  her  a  divine  boaconstrictor, 
She  didn't  exactly  know  what  I  meant,  but 
it  tickled  her  all  tbe  same.  Then  I  went 
over  into  the  field  to  consult  the  old  man 


OLD  EBENEZER  309 

about  the  time  I'd  have  to  wait,  and  when  I  men 
tioned  day  after  tomorrow  he  snorted.  'Young 
fellow/  said  he,  'I  like  your  pushing  ways,  but  I 
don't  want  to  be  crowded  off  the  face  of  the  earth. 
You  wait  awhile.  I  don't  want  folks  to  think  that 
I  am  anxious  to  git  rid  of  the  best  gal  that  ever 
lived.'  He  got  next  to  me  when  he  put  it  that  way, 
and  I  agreed  to  wait  a  week  or  so.  Yes,  sir,  it's  all 
right,  with  the  exception  that  I've  got  to  wait.  But 
I  won't  wait  alone;  I'll  go  out  there  every  once  in 
awhile  and  make  her  wait  with  me." 

Lyman  caught  hold  of  him  and  they  stood  near 
the  window,  laughing,  but  the  laughter  had  more 
the  sound  of  soft  music  than  of  two  men  in  a  merry 
mood.  They  sat  down  in  the  twilight,  and  their 
cigars  glowed  like  the  eyes  of  a  beast,  far  apart. 

Warren's  restlessness  was  worn  away  in  part,  and 
the  next  day  and  for  days  succeeding  he  went  about 
his  work,  humming  what  he  supposed  to  be  a  tune. 
Two  weeks  dragged  along  and  the  time  for  the 
marriage  was  approaching.  Every  day  or  so  the 
young  fellow  would  drive  out  into  the  country  to< 
argue  with  the  old  man.  He  had  rented  a  cottage 
and  had  furnished  it  and  he  pleaded  the  crime  of 


310  OLD  EBENEZER 

permitting  it  to  stand  there  empty  of  the  two  hearts 
that  yearned  to  inhabit  it.  The  old  man  acknowl 
edged  the  logic  of  the  argument,  but  swore  that  he 
could  not  have  it  said  that  he  was  anxious  to  get  rid 
of  his  girl;  and  Warren  always  agreed  to  this,  at  the 
time  of  its  emphatic  utterance,  but  when  he  had 
driven  back  to  town,  and  put  up  his  horse,  a  spirit 
of  rebellion  would  arise  and  back  he  would  go  the 
next  day  to  renew  the  contest. 

One  night  when  Lyman  went  home  he  found 
old  man  Staggs  in  the  sitting-room  waiting  for  him. 
"I've  got  something  to  tell  you,"  said  the  old  man. 

Lyman's  heart  jumped.  "Has  she  returned?"  he 
asked. 

"Has  who  returned?" 

"Why,  Mrs.  McElwin  and  her  daughter?" 

"Oh,  I  reckon  not." 

"Then  what  did  you  want  to  tell  me?" 

"I  want  to  tell  you  that  I  won't  drink  any  more." 

"You  told  me  that  some  time  ago." 

"Yes,  but  under  different  circumstances.  When 
I  told  you,  I  was  sick  and  wouldn't  have  touched 
a  drop  if  a  barrel  full  had  been  under  my  nose- 
but  I  tell  you  now  when  I  am  well.  Do  you 


OLD  EBENEZER  311 

know  the  reason  why  I  am  so  strong  in  the  faith 
now?  Of  course  you  don't,  and  that  is  what  I  am 
going  to  tell  you.  I  was  out  in  the  stable  this  even 
ing  and  I  found  a  bottle  of  liquor.  Blast  me  if  I 
hadn't  been  wanting  it  all  day.  But  what  did  I  do? 
I  went  out  and  threw  the  bottle — and  the  liquor — as 
far  as  I  could  send  it,  and  I  heard  it  squash  in  the 
street.  And  now  I  want  to  ask  you  if  that  wasn't 
nerve." 

Lyman  summoned  his  patience  and  agreed  that 
it  was  nerve,  and  the  old  man  continued.  "I  told 
my  wife  about  it,  but  she  didn't  believe  me.  And 
now  what  I  want  you  to  do  is  to  convince  her  that 
it  is  a  fact.  You  can  do  it  with  a  clear  conscience, 
for  I  will  swear  to  it.  The  fact  is  there's  going  to 
be  a  re-union  of  the  old  home  guard  at  Downer's 
grove,  about  fifteen  miles  from  here,  and  I  want  to 
go.  I  went  last  year  and — well,  I  fell,  somewhat. 
But  I  wouldn't  fall  this  time,  and  I  want  you  to  tell 
Tobithy  and  Annie  to  let  me  go." 

"And  what  if  you  come  home  drunk?" 
' 'Lyman,"  said  the  old  man,  puffing  up,  "I  have 
always  stood  as  your  friend.     I  have  got  out  of  bed 
at  night  to  argue  in  your  behalf,  and  I  didn't  expect 


312  OLD  EBENEZER 

no  sich  treatment  as  this.  If  you  want  to  stab  me, 
why  don't  you  out  with  your  knife  and  pop  it  to 
me  right  under  the  ribs.  Here,"  he  added,  turning 
toward  Lyman  and  smoothing  his  shirt  tight  over 
his  side,  "stab  me  right  here  and  I  won't  say  a 
word;  but,  for  the  Lord's  sake,  don't  question  my 
honor.  Let  me  tell  you  something:  I  am  a  poor 
man  and  in  debt;  I  need  clothes  and  sometimes  I 
am  out  of  tobacco,  but  I  wouldn't  touch  a  drop  of 
whisky  for  money  enough  to  dam  the  Mississippi 
river.  That's  rne,  Lyman,  and  you  may  wollop  it 
about  in  your  mouth  and  chew  on  it.  It  is  no  more 
than  natural  that  I  should  want  to  join  my^old 
friends.  Of  course  we  were  not  actually  in  the 
army,  but  we  would  have  been  soldiers  if  we  hadn't 
been  captured  and  disarmed,  and  we  have  an  affec 
tion  for  the  old  organization.  There  ain't  many  of 
us  left  and  it  is  cruelty  to  keep  us  apart.  And  I 
can't  go  unless  Tobithy  lets  me  take  the  money.  It 
won't  require  more  than  five  dollars.  Will  you 
assure  her  that  I'll  come  home  sober?" 

"I  don't  think  I  can  do  that,  Uncle  Jasper.  Un 
derstand,  now,  I  believe  you  think  you'll  keep 
sober,  but  the  truth  of  it  is  you  can't.  Why,  if  you 


OLD  EBENEZER  313 

didn't  drink,  the  old  fellows  wouldn't  be  your  com 
panions." 

The  "veteran"  smoothed  his  shirt  over  his  side. 
"Stab  me,"  he  said.  'Top  your  knife  under  this 
rib — this  one,  right  here.  It  will  be  a  mercy  to  me 
if  you  do.  When  a  man  out-lives  his  word  of 
honor,  it's  time  to  go  and  go  violently.  Pop  it." 

"Your  drinking  doesn't  amount  to  much,  Uncle 
Jasper.  You  don't  drink  viciously,  but  reminis- 
cently.  However,  it  is  a  crime  to  take  money  from 
those  women — Hold  on;  I  know  you  do  all  you 
can  to  earn  a  living;  you  work  whenever  anything 
comes  up,  but  you  haven't  earned  five  dollars  in — " 

"I  earned  the  money,  but  the  scoundrel  didn't 
pay  me,"  the  old  fellow  broke  in.  "I've  got  hun 
dreds  of  dollars  owin'  to  me,  but  the  rascals  laugh 
at  me.  I  cured  old  Thompson's  sick  horse — 
worked  with  him  all  night,  nearly,  and  he  gave  me 
a  dollar.  Haven't  earned  five  dollars!  the  devil! 
How  can  a~man  earn  five  dollars  when  a  scoundrel 
pays  him  one  dollar  for  fifteen  dollars'  worth  of 
labor?  The  shirt  ain't  very  thick.  The  knife  will 
go  in  all  right.  Pop  it."  He  smoothed  his  shirt 
and  closed  his  eyes  as  if  expecting  the  death  blow 


314  OLD  EBENEZER 

"You  didn't  let  me  get  through,"  said  Lyman. 
"I  was  going  to  say  that  your  drinking  did  no  par 
ticular  harm.  To  meet  your  old  cronies  and  to 
warm  up  with  them  is  about  all  that  is  left  to  you 
of  real  enjoyment.  Sooner  or  later  we  all  live  in 
the  past,  and  there  can  be  no  very  great  evil  in 
bringing  the  past  near.  So,  now,  if  you  will  prom 
ise  me  to  tome  home  in  as  good  condition  as  you 
can,  I  will  give  you  five  dollars." 

The  old  fellow  gulped,  wheeled  about  to  hide  his 
eyes  and  leant  forward  with  his  face  in  his 
hands.  Lyman  slipped  a  bank  note  between 
his  fingers  and  without  saying  a  word  went 
up  stairs.  At  breakfast  the  next  morning,  which 
was  the  day  of  the  reunion  of  the  gallant  home 
guard,  old  Jasper  was  full  of  life  and  hope,  but  that 
night  when  Lyman  came  home,  he  found  him  lean 
ing  on  the  gate,  unable  to  find  the  latch.  'I'm  all 
right,"  he  said. 

"I  believe  you  are,"  Lyman  replied. 

"Am,  for  a  fact.  I  promised  to  come  in  good 
shape.  Here,  all  right." 

Lyman  managed  to  get  him  to  bed  without  dis 
turbing  anyone,  but  later  at  night  he  heard  the  wo- 


OLD  EBENEZER 


315 


men  lashing  him  with  their  tongues.  He  knew 
that  there  was  justice  in  the  lashing  and  he  dreaded 
lest  they  should  cut  at  him  for  abetting  the  crime, 
but  they  did  not,  for  at  breakfast  they  smiled  at 
him,  doubtless  not  having  discovered  his  complicity. 
The  old  man  was  heart-sick.  "I  want  to  see  you/' 
he  said  to  Lyman,and  leading  him  into  the  sitting- 
room,  continued:  "I  have  said  it  before,  I  know, 
but  I  want  to  say  it  now  once  for  all  that  I'll  never 
touch  another  drop  as  long  as  I  live.  Why,  con 
found  my  old  hide,  don't  I  know  exactly  what  it  will 
do  for  me;  and  do  you  think  I'll  deliberately  make 
a  brute  of  myself?  I  won't,  that's  all.  It's  all  right 
to  bring  the  past  back,  that  is,  for  a  man  who  can 
do  it,  but  it  isn't  for  me,  I  tell  you  that.  And  I 
don't  want  to  see  those  home  guards  any  more. 
Why,  if  they  had  taken  my  advice,  do  you  suppose 
they  would  have  surrendered  without  firing  a  gun? 
They  wouldn't.  I  argued  with  them  and  swore  at 
them,  but  they  stacked  their  guns;  and  then  what 
could  I  do  but  surrender?  That's  neither  here  nor 
there,  though — I'm  never  goin'  to  drink  another 
drop.  Oh,  I've  said  it  before — I  know  that,  but  it 
sticks,  this  time." 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 
THERE  CAME  A  CHECK. 

Lyman's  book  met  with  a  favor  that  no  one  had 
ventured  to  forecast.     It  did  not  touch  the  public's 
fad-nerve;  it  was  too  close  to  the  soil  for  that.     It 
was  so  simple,  with  an  art  so  sly,  with  a  humor  that, 
like  an  essence,  so  quietly  stole  the  senses,  that  the 
reviewers  did  not  arise  in  resentment  against  it. 
They  had  expected  nothing  and  were  surprised  to 
find  much.     Worn  out  with  heavy  volumes  from 
the  pens  of  the  learned  and  the  pretentious,  they 
seemed  to  find  in  this  little  book  a  rest,  a  refuge  for 
reverie,  cooled  with  running  water  and  sheltered 
by   leaves  from   the  burning  sun.     And  at  night, 
when  the  author  lay  down  to  rest  and  to  muse  upon 
himself,  his  heart  did  not  beat  with  the  exultant 
throb  of  victory — it  was  full  of  a  melancholy  grati 
tude.     One  morning  a  letter  startled  him.     It  came 
from  a  great  periodical  and  enclosed  a  check  in 
payment  for  a  serial  story.     It  represented  more 
money  than  he  had  ever  hoped  to  possess;   he 

(316) 


OLD  EBENEZER 


317 


called  Warren,  and  handed  him  the  piece  of  paper. 

"I  can  hardly  trust  my  eyes,"  he  said.     "What  do 
you  make  of  it?" 

Warren  flew  into  a  fit  of  enthusiasm.  "Five 
thousand  dollars,"  he  cried.  "And  it  comes  from 
the  advertising  the  newspapers  have  been  giving 
you.  I  want  to  tell  you  that  advertising  pays. 
Five  thousand  dollars,  and  it  didn't  take  you  more 
than  six  months  to  write  the  thing.  Those  fellows 
don't  know  whether  it's  good  or  not.  All  they 
know  is  that  the  newspapers  have  given  your  other 
story  a  send-off.  Talk  about  newspapers;  the  first 
thing  you  know  we'll  have  money  enough  to  paper 
the  town.  But  this  is  all  yours.  No  matter,  I'm 
as  much  interested  as  if  it  were  mine.  Say,  let  me 
have  this  check  a  minute.  I  want  to  go  across  the 
street  and  show  it  to  a  fellow  and  tell  him  to  go 
to— He  spoke  of  this  office  one  day  as  Poverty's 
Nest.  Let  me  take  it  over  there." 

"No,"  said  Lyman,  laughing,  "but  I'll  tell  you  i 
what  you  may  do  with  it — take  it  over  to  the  bank 
and  deposit  it  in  my  name." 

"But  you'll  have  to  come  along  and  leave  your 
signature." 


OLD  EBENEZER 

"Is  that  the  way  they  do?  All  right;  but  I  don't 
want  to  see  McElwin." 

"That  won't  be  necessary.  But  don't  you  think 
we'd  better  carry  the  check  around  town  awhile  be 
fore  depositing  it?" 

"No,  that  would  be  silly." 

"Silly!  It  would  be  business.  You  let  me  have 
it  and  I'll  rake  in  fifty  subscriptions  before  three 
o'clock.  It's  business." 

"No,  we'll  go  over  and  deposit  it." 

They  went  over  to  the  bank,  laughing  like  boys 
as  they  crossed  the  street.  McElwin  had  not  come 
down.  The  ceremony  was  conducted  by  the  cash 
ier,  a  humdrum  performance  to  him,  but  to  Lyman 
and  Warren  one  of  marked  impressiveness.  They 
returned  to  the  office  with  the  air  of  capitalists.  At 
the  treshold  of  the  "sanctum"  they  met  a  man  who 
wanted  to  subscribe  for  the  paper.  Warren  took 
his  name  and  his  money,  and  when  he  was  gone, 
turned  to  Lyman  with  a  smile.  "It  has  begun  to 
work  already.  The  news  of  the  deposit  has  flashed 
around  town  and  they  are  coming  in  for  recogni 
tion.  Oh,  we're  all  right.  Do  you  remember 
those  cigars  you  brought  from  the  moonlight  pic- 


OLD  EBENEZER  319 

nic?    I  believe  I'll  go  out  and  get  some  just  like 
them.     Why,  helloa,  here  is  our  old  friend." 

Uncle  Buckley  was  standing  at  the  door.     Ly- 

man  jumped  up  and  seized  the  old  fellow  by  the 

hand  and  led  him  to  a  chair.     "Look  out,  Sammy," 

he  said  with  an  air  of  caution.     "Don't  shake  me  or 

you'll  make  me  spill  the  things  Mother  has  stuffed 

me  with.    These  here  are  harvest  apples,"  he  went 

on,   thrusting  his   hands   into   the   pockets   of  his 

brown  jeans  coat  and  drawing  forth  yellow  apples. 

'Til  jest  put  them  here  on  the  table.     And  here  is 

an  Indian  peach  or  two,  the  earliest  ones  I  ever 

saw.     And  look  at  this,  a  pone  of  cracklin'  bread. 

Think  of  that,  this  time  of  year.     The  fact  is  we 

killed  a  shote  the  other  day.     Mother,  lowed  you 

couldn't  git  any  sich  bread  in  town  and  a  feller  has 

to  have  somethin'  to  eat  once  in  awhile.     Now,  I 

do  wonder  what  this  here  is,"  he  added,  tugging 

at  his  pocket.      Well,  if  it  ain't  the  thighs  and  the 

pully-bone  of  a  fried  chicken,  I'm  the  biggest  liar 

that  ever  walked  a  log.     Oh,  I'm  full  up.     She  got 

up  before  day,  mother  did,  and  stuffed  me  for  an 

hour  or  more.     Blamed  if  a  peart  youngster  didn't 

yell,  'Hi,  there,  sausage/  as  I  come  in  town.     Now, 


820  OLD  EBENEZER 

I'm  blowed  if  I  know  what  this  is.  Yes,  sir,  it's  a 
pair  of  socks,  knit  under  the  light  of  a  tallow  candle 
without  the  drappin'  of  a  stitch.  Oh,  it  ain't  no 
laughin'  matter,  boys;  there  ain't  no  fun  in  gettin' 
up  at  four  o'clock  of  a  mornin'  to  be  stuffed,  I  tell 
you.  Well,  I  reckon  I'm  reasonably  empty  now." 
He  leaned  back  and  looked  at  his  cargo,  arrayed 
upon  the  table. 

"I'll  hire  a  wagon  and  have  these  things  taken 
over  to  the  house,'  said  Lyman.  "You  tell  her, 
bless  her  old  heart,  that  I'm  coming  out  there 
pretty  soon  with  enough  stuff  to  smother  both  of 
you.  Warren,  get  those  cigars." 

"Sure.  Is  there  anything  else  we  want?  Uncle 
Buckley,  don't  you  want  something  to  drink?" 

"Well,  if  you've  got  some  right  good  buttermilk 
handy  I  mout  take  a  glass.  But  I  don't  want  no 
licker,  young  man.  I  never  touched  it  but  once, 
and  then  I  swapped  a  fine  young  mare  for  an  old 
mule,  and  I  swore  then  that  I'd  never  tech  it  again. 

Go  on  and  get  your  segyars  and  I'll  make  a  shift  of 
burnin'  one  of  'em." 

Warren  went  out.  Lyman  feasted  his  eyes  on 
the  old  man.  "How  are  they  all,  Uncle  Buckley?" 


OLD  EBENEZER 


321 


"Jest  about  the  same.  Jimmy  killed  the  biggest 
black  snake  yistidy— I  think  it  was  yistidy.  Let 
me  see.  I  know  in  reason  it  was  yistidy,  for  I  was 
a  splittin'  some  wood  when  he  fotch  the  thing 
along,  draggin'  it  by  the  tail.  Though  that  mout 
have  been  day  before  yistidy.  I  believe  it  was  day 
before  yistidy.  Anyhow  it  was  the  biggist  black 
snake  ever  killed  out  there  since  the  war,  but  of 
course  in  my  day  they  killed  bigger  ones.  He 
found  him  out  in  a  blackberry  patch  and  mauled 
him  to  death.  Oh,  he  was  a  snorter.  That's  about 
the  biggest  piece  of  news  I've  got.  Let  me  see. 
Lige  met  a  pole-cat  somewhere  in  the  woods  and 
socity  ain't  been  hankering  after  Lige  since  then. 
I  seen  him  this  mornin'  as  I  was  comin'  in,  and  I 
yelled  at  him  to  keep  his  distance,  and  he  did  or  I 
would  have  hit  him.  Yes,  sir,  I  can't  stand  a  pole 
cat.  You  ricollect  Mab  Basey,  I  reckon.  She  run 
away  with  a  feller  that  come  to  help  cut  'wheat  and 
they  ain't  seen  her  sense.  Oh,  he  married  her  and 
all  that,  but  they  don't  know  where  she  is.  Luke 
Brizentine  didn't  git  over  it." 

"What,  Mab's  running  away?" 

"Oh,  no,  not  that.     Didn't  I  tell  you?     Why, 


322  OLD  EBENEZER 

Jeff  Sarver  filled  him  so  full  of  shot  that  his  hide 
looked  like  a  nutmeg  grater.  Yes,  sir.  They  got 
into  a  difficulty  over  a  steer  that  had  been  jumpin' 
into  a  field,  and  he  tried  to  stab  Jeff  and  Jeff  shot 
him.  Made  a  good  deal  of  a  stir  at  the  time  and 
Luke  didn't  live  but  two  days,  but  how  he  could  live 
that  long  was  more  than  we  could  see,  and  it  caused 
a  good  deal  of  surprise.  Now,  wait  a  minit.  It 
was  day  before  yistidy  that  Jimmy  killed  the  snake. 
Sammy,  where  is  that  man  that  was  your  partner?" 

"He  has  an  office  on  the  other  side  of  the 
square." 

"Yes,  but  are  you  sure,  Sammy,  that  he  ain't 
your  partner?" 

"Absolutely  certain,  Uncle  Buckley." 

The  old  man  scratched  his  head.  "Sammy,  that 
man  ain't  honest." 

"I  am  quite  sure  of  that." 

"He  has  fotch  it  home  to  me  that  he  ain't, 
Sammy.  But  I  don't  know  that  I  ought  to  tell 
you  about  it;  I  reckon  I  ought  to  let  it  go.  And 
still,  it  wouldn't  be  treatin'  you  exactly  right.  He 
is  a  forger,  Sammy.  Look  at  this." 

He  had  taken  out  a  pocket-book  and  from  about 


OLD  EBENEZER  323 

it  was  unwinding  a  string,  and  when  the  string 
came  off,  he  took  out  a  piece  of  paper  and  handed 
it  to  Lyman.  It  .was  a  note  for  one  hundred  dol 
lars  and  appended  were  the  names  of  John  Car- 
uthers  and  Samuel  Lyman. 

"Understand,  Sammy,  that  I  don't  want  you  to 
pay  it;  I  simply  want  you  to  know  that  the  feller 
has  used  your  name  wrong." 

"It  is  a  forgery,"  said  Lyman. 

"Yes,  that's  what  I  have  been  believing  for  some 
time  past,  but  I  didn't  say  anything  about  it  to 
mother.  When  you  went  out  that  day  he  comes  to 
me  and  says,  "We  must  have  a  hundred  dollars  and 
though  we  don't  like  to  do  it  we  have  to  appeal  to 
you.  Lyman  says  that  he  hasn't  the  heart  to  ask, 
so  he  has  put  it  off  on  me.'  And  so,  I  snatches  out 
my  wallet  and  lets  him  have  the  money.  But  I 
don't  ask  you  to  pay  it,  Sammy." 

"Why,  my  dear  old  friend,  do  you  suppose  I 
would  let  you  lose  it?  I  can  pay  it  without  a 
flinch;  more  than  that,  if  you  are  in  need  of  money, 
I  can  let  you  have  five  times  as  much."  He  tucked 
the  note  into  his  pocket  and  took  up  his  check 
book. 


324  OLD  EBENEZER 

"Why,  Sammy,  I  don't  know  whuther  to  laugh 
or  to  cry  or  to  holler  when  you  talk  like  that.  But 
I  don't  need  no  money,  and  especially  none  that 
you  have  raked  together." 

"But  you  must  take  this,"  said  Lyman,  handing 
him  a  check.  "It's  the  first  check  I  ever  made 
out,"  he  added,  laughing. 

"Then  you  ain't  been  rich  very  long,  Sammy," 
said  the  old  man,  taking  the  piece  of  paper.  "But 
you've  writ  this  in  jest  like  you  are  used  to  it.  You 
can't  write  as  well,  however,  as  Blake  Peel.  I 
reckon  he's  the  finest  writer  in  this  country.  Why, 
he  can  make  a  bird  with  a  pen,  and  it  looks  like  it's 
jest  ready  to  fly — he's  teached  writin'  school  all  up 
and  down  the  creek,  and  I  reckon  he's  the  best. 
But  I'm  sorry  about  this  thing,  and  I  don't  feel  like 
takin'  it." 
,  "You've  got  to  take  it." 

"Then  I  must.  But  you  know  where  it  is  any 
time  you  want  it,"  he  said,  putting  the  check  into 
his  pocket.  "And  now,  Sammy,  what  are  you  go 
ing  to  do  with  that  feller?  The  note  wasn't  signed 
as  a  firm,  but  your  names  was  put  on  individual, 
and  as  you  didn't  write  your  name  he  forged  it. 
What  are  you  goin'  to  do  with  him?" 


OLD  EBENEZER  325 

"I  don't  know.  Here  comes  Warren.  Don't 
say  anything  more  about  it  now." 

Warren  came  in.  "Uncle  Buckley,"  said  he, 
"here  is  a  cigar  that  will  make  you  forget  your 
woes." 

"Thank  you,  my  son.  I  don't  believe  I've  got 
time  to  smoke  jest  now.  I'll  take  this  thing  home 
and  crumble  it  up  and  mother  and  I  will  smoke  it 
in  our  pipes." 

Warren  staggered.  "Gracious  alive,  don't  do 
that!"  he  cried. 

"All  right,  my  son,  I'll  set  out  on  a  stump  and 
burn  it  in  the  moonlight,  a  thinkin'  of  you  and 
Sammy.  Well,  I  must  be  movinV  Good-bye,  all 
han's,  and  ricollect  that  my  latch-string  hangs  on 
the  outside." 

They  shook  hands  affectionately,  and  then  sat  in 
silence,  listening  to  his  footsteps  as  he  trod  slowly 
down  the  stairs. 

"Why  don't  you  light  your  cigar?"  Warren 
asked. 

"I  don't  care  to  smoke  just  now,"  Lyman  an 
swered.  "I  have  some  business  on  the  other  side 
of  the  square." 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 

lyAUGHED  AT  HIS  WEAKNESS. 

Lyrnan  walked  slowly  across  the  public  square. 
The  lawyers,  the  clerks,  the  tradesmen,  who  had 
become  acquainted  with  his  habits  were  wont  to 
say,  as  they  saw  him  strolling  about,  "There  he 
goes,  blind  as  a  bat,  with  a  story  in  his  head."  And 
they  commented  upon  him  now,  but  they  could  see 
that  he  was  not  in  a  dreaming  mood,  for  his  head 
was  high  and  his  heels  fell  hard  upon  the  ground. 
At  the  edge  of  the  sidewalk  he  halted  for  a  moment, 
and  his  eye  ran  along  the  signs  over  the  doors. 
Then  he  stepped  up  to  an  open  door  and  entered 
without  pausing  at  the  threshold.  Caruthers  was 
sitting  with  his  face  toward  the  door.  He  flushed 
as  Lyman  entered,  took  his  feet  off  the  corner  of  the 
table  and  straightened  himself  back  in  his  chair. 
Lyman  stepped  up  to  the  table  and  without  a  word, 
stood  there  looking  at  him. 

"Well,  you  have  come  at  last,"  said  Caruthers. 
"I  have  been  sitting  here  day  after  day,  waiting  for 
you." 

(326) 


OLD  EBENEZER  321 

"You  expected  me,"  said  Lyman. 

"Yes,  as  I  say  I  have  been  waiting  for  you  day 
after  day.  But  where  is  the  constable?  You  didn't 
bring  him  along." 

Lyman  took  out  the  note.  "The  fog  that  settled 
between  us,"  said  he. 

Caruthers  nodded. 

"I  would  have  come  sooner,"  said  Lyman,  "but 
the  fog  was  not  defined  until  a  few  moments  ago." 

"And  I  suppose  you  plan  is  to  send  me  to  the 
penitentiary.  Tell  me  what  you  intend  to  do — 
don't  stand  there  looking  at  me  that  way.  Give  a 
man  a  chance  to  defend  his  honor." 

"Honor,"  Lyman  repeated,  with  a  cold  smile. 
"You  haven't  as  much  honor  as  a  hyena." 

"Well,  then,  let  me  say  name." 

"You  can  say  name.  A  snake  has  a  name.  And 
you  want  a  chance  to  defend  yours." 

"Mr.  Lyman,  I  really  have  no  defense — I'm  done 
up.  I  needed  money  and  I  put  your  name  to  that 
note,  and  if  you  want  to  disgrace  my  family,  why 
you  can  send  me  to  the  penitentiary.  I  have  suf 
fered  over  it,  day  and  night,  and  I  am  going  to 
make  the  amount  good  if  I  live  long  enough.  You 


328  OLD  EBENEZER 

can  take  everything  I've  got  in  here.  But  I  sup 
pose  you  would  rather  send  me  to  the  penitentiary." 

Lyman  sat  down.  "When  I  left  my  office,"  said 
he,  "I  was  angry  enough  to  kill  you,  but  now  you 
appear  so  contemptible  that  I  am  sorry  for  you." 

"And  I  feel  as  contemptible  as  I  look." 

"I  don't  think  that  is  quite  possible.  If  you  felt 
as  contemptible  as  you  look  you'd  blow  your  brains 
out."  He  got  up  and  stood  looking  at  Caruthers. 
He  put  his  hand  to  his  forehead  as  if  a  troublesome 
thought  were  passing  through  his  mind.  "Now 
that  I  am  here  I  don't  know  what  to  do,"  said  he. 
"I  know  that  you  ought  to  be  punished,  but  my 
old  weakness  comes  upon  me  and  I  falter."  Car 
uthers  brightened  and  Lyman  looked  like  an 
abashed  criminal. 

"Lyman,"  said  Caruthers,  "if  you  have  any  mercy 
left,  let  me  throw  myself  upon  it.  I  know  that 
there  ought  to  be  an  end  to  your  forgiveness,  but 
why  should  you  draw  the  line  at  me?" 

"I  am  a  fool,"  said  Lyman,  "and  it  makes  me 
blush  to  know  that  I  can't  hide  it  from  you.  But 
you  are  so  contemptible  that  I  haven't  the  heart  to 
punish  you." 


OLD  EBENEZER  329 

He  tore  the  note  into  bits  and  turned  toward  the 
door,  with  his  head  hung  low.  He  thought  that  he 
heard  something  and  looking  back  he  caught  Car- 
uthers  laughing  at  him.  His  head  went  up;  a 
strange  light  drove  the  gentleness  out  of  his  eyes. 
"Ah,  you  laugh  at  my  weakness.  A  moment  ago 
I  didn't  know  what  to  do.  Now  I  know." 

He  sprang  at  Caruthers  and  seized  him  by  the 
collar — he  shoved  him  back  and  struck  him  in  the 
mouth — he  jerked  him  to  his  knees,  threw  him 
upon  the  floor  and  kicked  him.  The  cries  of  the 
wretch  brought  a  crowd  to  the  door.  A  constable 
rushed  in.  "Get  away,"  Lyman  commanded.  "He 
belongs  to  me." 

"But  you  don't  want  to  kill  him/  the  officer  re 
plied.     "Look,  you  have  knocked  his  teeth  out." 
"So  I  have.     Well,  you  may  have  him  now." 
Warren  sat  in  the  office,  smoking.    "Why,  what's 
the  matter?"  he  asked,  as  Lyman  entered.     "I'll 
bet  you've  got  another  piece  of  news  to  suppress." 
"No,  I  haven't — we'll  give  it  two  columns.     I 
knocked  Brother  Caruthers'  teeth  out  and  I'm  glad 
of  it." 

"Good!"  Warren  cried.     And  then  he  called  the 


330  OLD  EBENEZER 

office  boy.  "Tom,  wet  down  two  hundred  extra 
copies  for  the  next  edition.  Oh,  Samuel,  you  are 
coming  on  first  rate.  What  did  he  do?" 

"He  laughed  at  my  weakness." 

"Glad  of  it.  Oh,  we  are  prospering.  Make  a 
piece  of  news  out  of  it,  and  don't  think  about  your 
self.  Write  it  in  the  third  person.  Talk  about 
hard  times  when  things  come  this  way!  Why,  the 
world  is  on  a  keen  jump.  Hold  on  a  moment. 
Here  comes  Nancy's  dad." 

Old  man  Pitt  came  walking  carefully  into  the 
room,  looking  about  to  avoid  upsetting  anything. 
He  shook  hands  with  Lyman  and  Warren,  looked 
for  a  place  to  spit,  did  not  find  it  and  spat  on  the 
floor.  "I  seen  your  little  rumpus  over  yonder  jest 
now,"  said  he,  "and  it  was  powerful  entertainm. 
You  snatched  that  feller  about  like  he  wa'n't  nothin* 
more  than  a  feather  pillow.  And  I'm  glad  of  it,  for 
if  there  ever  was  a  scoundrel  on  the  face  of  the 
earth  he's  the  man.  I  drapped  in  town  today  to 
see  if  there  was  any  news  goin'  on,  an'  I  bucked  up 
agin  it  the  first  off-start.  That's  what  I  call  keepin' 
things  lively.  Mr.  Warren,  our  cousin  Jerry  was 
over  at  the  house  last  night." 


OLD  EBENEZER  331 

"The  deuce  you  say!"  Warren  exclaimed. 

"Yes,  sir,  last  night ;  and  he  apologized  for  havin' 
been  a  leetle  slow.  He  'lowed  that  it  had  been  in 
his  mind  all  along  to  marry  Nancy — " 

"I'll  shoot  the  top  of  his  head  off!"  Warren 
broke  in. 

"No  need  of  that,  my  son.  I  told  him  that  we 
was  much  obleeged  for  his  deliberation  as  the  feller 
says,  but  that  he  was  too  late;  and  Nancy  she  up 
and  tells  him  that  she  never  had  thought  of  marryin' 
him,  and  that  she  wouldn't  have  had  him  if  he  had 
asked  her  three  years  ago.  And  then  she  'lowed 
that  she  loved  you — " 

"Talk  about  women!"  Warren  cried.  "There's 
one  for  your  life.  And  say,  I'll  be  out  there  tomor 
row  morning  at  eight  o'clock  and  the  ceremony  will 
be  performed  at  half  past  eight.  Just  hold  on,  now, 
there's  no  use  in  argue  ing  with  me.  She  was  born 
to  you,  but,  by  George,  she  was  born  for  me,  and 
that's  all  there  is  to  it." 

"Young  feller,"  said  Mr.  Pitt,  "the  day  for  me  to 
buck  agin  you  is  past.  I  don't  mind  markin' 
yearlin'  calves  and  I  don't  hold  off  when  it  comes 
to  breakin'  up  a  hornet's  nest,  but  I  stand  ready  and 


332 


OLD  EBENEZER 


willin'  to  fling  up  my  hands  when  it  comes  to  pullin' 
agin  you.  I  have  been  kept  busy  many  a  time  in 
my  life;  I  have  been  woke  up  at  mornin'  and  kept 
on  the  stretch  pretty  nigh  till  midnight,  but  you 
can  come  nearer  occupyin'  all  my  time  and  the  time 
of  all  my  folks  than  any  article  I  ever  come  up 
against.  I  give  in  and  so  do  the  rest  of  them.  You 
can  jump  on  a  hoss  and  ride  right  out  there  and 
marry  her  before  I  can  git  home  if  you  want  to." 

The  old  fellow  bowed  his  head  as  if  he  were  ex 
hausted  with  the  strain  of  a  long  fight.  Lyman 
sputtered  with  laughter,  and  Warren,  his  eyes  shed 
ding  the  light  of  victory,  thus  addressed  the  old 
man:  "I  am  glad  that  you  have  at  last  given  your 
consent,  and  I  want  to  tell  you  that  you  shall  never 
regret  it." 

'That's  all  right,  young  feller.  I  never  squeal 
when  a  man  outwinds  me,  and  I  am  as  much  out- 
winded  now  as  if  I'd  been  wrasselin'  with  a  bear. 
Nancy  saw  how  the  fight  was  goin',  her  and  her 
mother,  and  for  the  past  week  or  so  they  have  been 
makin'  clothes  fitten  to  kill  themselves,  and  if 
Nancy  ain't  got  enough  yet,  why,  I'll  jest  tell  hel 
to  put  on  all  she's  got  ready  and  let  it  rip  at  that. 


OLD  EBENEZER  333 

Well,  I'm  goin'  now.  I  expect  mebby,  young 
feller,  you'll  beat  me  home  and  be  married  agin  I 
git  there,  but  I've  got  nothin'  to  say.  I  know  when 
I'm  winded.  Good  day." 

They  shook  hands  with  him,  and  when  he  was 
gone  Warren  said:  "Well,  things  are  settling 
down  on  a  fair  sort  of  a  basis.  I  like  that  old  man, 
Lyman,  and  I  don't  believe  I'll  rush  him;  believe 
I'll  give  them  more  time  to  get  things  ready.  I 
could  go  out  there  tonight,  but  I'll  wait  till  tomor 
row  morning  and  let  the  ceremony  be  performed  at 
eight  o'clock.  I'll  get  up  about  five  and  pick  up  a 
preacher  on  the  way.  He's  a  poor  fellow  and  needs 
the  job/' 

"Good!"  Lyman  cried.  "I  am  really  glad  that 
you  have  decided  not  to  push  the  old  man." 

"Yes,  I  think  it  best  to  give  him  and  the  girl 
plenty  of  time.  Don't  you?" 

"I  rather  think  so.  They  ought  at  least  to  have 
time  enough  to  wash  their  faces  and  comb  their 
hair.  But  to  tell  you  the  truth  I  don't  relish  the 
idea  of  getting  up  so  early.* 

"You  don't?  Why,  you've  got  nothing  to  do 
with  it.  Did  you  think  I  was  going  to  let  you  go? 


334  OLD  EBENEZER 

Not  much.  You'd  guy  me  and  that  would  turn  the 
whole  thing  into  a  farce.  It's  a  fact  that  I  don't 
want  you;  I  may  be  peculiar,  but  I  can't  help  it. 
I  tell  you  what  you  must  do:  We'll  be  in  town 
day  after  tomorrow  night  and  I  want  you  to  come 
down  to  the  house  and  take  supper  with  us, 

'Til  be  there." 

'But  you  mus'n't  guy  Nancy.  She'll  be  scared 
anyway." 

"I  won't  guy  her.  I  shall  feel  more  disposed  to 
pronounce  a  benediction." 

"I'm  glad  you  feel  that  way  though  we  don't  want 
the  occasion  to  be  solemn.  Where  are  you  going?" 

"Over  to  old  Jasper's  to  imprison  myself  in  my 
room.  I  want  to  think." 

While  Lyman  was  busy  with  Caruthers,  Eva  was 
tripping  along  a  grass-grown  street.  She  and  her 
mother  had. just  returned.  The  social  relationship 
between  the  banker's  daughter  and  the  daughter  of 
old  Jasper  Staggs  had  not  been  close;  Eva's  visits 
had  always  been  a  surprise.  And  on  this  day  when 
Annie  saw  her  coming,  she  got  up  in  a  flutter  to 
meet  her  at  the  door. 


OLD  EBENEZER  335 

"Why,  how  do  you  do?"  Annie  cried,  catching 
her  hand.  "I  am  delighted  to  see  you.  When  did 
you  get  home?  We  didn't  hear  that  you  had  come 
back." 

"We  returned  not  more  than  an  hour  ago." 

"Come  in  and  put  your  things  off." 

"I  haven't  time  to  stay  but  a  few  moments.  Is 
your  mother  well?" 

"Yes,  very  well.     I  will  call  her." 

"Oh,  no,  I'm  going  to  remain  so  short  a  time.  I 
was  out  walking  and  I  thought  I'd  stop  for  a  mo 
ment.  Is  your  father  well?" 

"Yes,  as  well  as  usual.  I  don't  know  where  he 
is — out  in  the  garden,  I  suppose." 

"Is  Mr.  Lyman  here  yet?" 

"You  mean  is  he  still  in  town?  Oh,  yes,  and  he 
boards  here,  but  I  suppose  he's  at  his  office." 

"Somebody  told  me  that  he  was  thinking  of  leav 
ing  town." 

"That  may  be,  but  he  hasn't  gone  yet." 

"Does  he  do  most  of  his  work  here?" 

"Yes,  all  but  the  work  for  the  paper." 

Would  you  mind  showing  me  the  room  where 
he  does  his  work?  I'd  like  so  much  to  see  it." 


OLD  EBENEZER 

"With  pleasure,  I'm  sure." 

She  led  Eva  to  the  room  above.  The  young 
woman  stood  with  her  hands  clasped,  looking  at 
the  bare  walls — she  looked  at  the  chair,  at  every 
article  of  meager  furniture.  She  went  to  the  desk 
and  took  up  a  pen.  "Is  this  the  pen  he  writes 
with?"  she  asked. 

"Yes,  I  think  so.  Did  you  wish  to  write  some 
thing?" 

"Oh,  no,"  she  answered,  holding  the  pen.  "And 
is  that  where  he  walks  up  and  down  while  he's 
thinking?"  she  asked,  pointing  to  a  thread-bare 
pathway  in  the  rag  carpet. 

"It  must  be,"  Annie  answered.  "We  hear  him 
walking  a  good  deal  and  he  always  seems  to  be 
walking  up  and  down  in  the  same  place." 

Eva  put  down  the  pen  and  turned  to  go.  Annie 
looked  at  her  narrowly.  They  wrent  down  stairs 
and  Eva  did  not  halt  until  she  had  reached  the 
door.  "Won't  you  sit  down?" 

"Oh,  no,  thank  you.  I  must  be  getting  back. 
You  must  come  over  to  see  us.  Good-bye." 

Annie  went  out  to  the  dining-room  where  her 


OLD  EEENEZER  337 

mother  was  ironing.  "Eva  has  just  been  here/'  she 
said.  "All  she  wanted  was  to  go  into  the  room 
where  Mr.  Lyman  does  his  work.  She's  dead  in 
love  with  him  and  he's  blind  as  a  bat  not  to  see  it. 
I  don't  believe  he  wrote  the  book — I  don't  believe 
he  could  write  anything." 


CHAPTER  XXXIII. 
PETITION. 


Lyman  did  not  sleep  much  that  night.  Annie, 
cautioned  by  her  discreet  mother  not  to  say  too 
much,  had  simply  told  him  that  Eva  had  called  and 
asked  about  him.  But  that  was  enough  to  keep 
him  awake  nearly  all  night;  and  long  before  the 
table  was  set,  the  next  morning,  they  heard  him 
walking  slowly  up  and  down  the  pathway  worn  in 
the  carpet.  In  the  office  he  sat  musing.  The  boy 
came  in  to  tell  him  that  at  five  o'clock  he  had  helped 
Warren  on  the  road  to  be  married,  and  that  he  had 
left  strict  instructions  that  Lyman  should  be  told  not 
to  forget  the  supper  at  the  cottage.  The  boy  went 
out  and  Lyman  stood  at  the  window,  looking  across 
at  the  bank.  Presently  he  saw  McElwin  bow  with 
dignity  to  a  man  whom  he  met  in  front  of  the  door 
and  then  enter  the  place.  The  boy  came  in  again 
and  holding  out  a  piece  of  "copy"  written  badly, 
asked  him  to  read  the  first  line.  It  was  a  notice  of 
the  meeting  of  the  Chancery  court.  The  boy  re- 


OLD  EBENEZER  339 

turned  to  his  work  and  Lyman  continued  to  gaze 
at  the  bank.  Suddenly  a  smile,  not  altogether  soft, 
but  half  cynical,  lighted  up  his  face;  and  at  the 
same  instant  he  reached  for  his  h#t.  Straightway  . 
he  went  to  the  bank  and  sent  his  name  into  the  pri 
vate  office.  McElwin  came  to  the  door. 

"Why,  come  in,  Mr.  Lyman,"  he  said  cordially, 
extending  his  hand.  Lyman  shook  hands  with 
him  and  entered  the  room.  The  great  clock  began 
to  strike.  McElwin  looked  up  at  it  and  then  said: 
"Have  a  seat,  please." 

Lyman  sat  down.  McElwin  did  not  permit  the 
silence  to  become  embarrassing.  "Mr.  Sawyer 
told  me  all  about  it,  sir;  he  kept  nothing  back,  al 
though  he  must  have  seen  that  I  could  not  help 
honoring  you.  Mr.  Lyman,  you  have  taught  us  all 
a  lesson,  sir,  and  I  am  more  than  pleased  to  see  that 
you  are  prospering.  It  is  more  than  likely/'  he 
went  on,  crossing  his  legs,  "that  you  may  soon  seek 
some  sort  of  investment  for  your  money.  Idle  ' 
money,  sir,  is  like  an  idle  mind — a  mischief  to  the 
community ;  and  if  you  should  desire  to  invest-*" 

"I  can't  afford  to  engage  in  trade,"  Lyman  broke 
in.  "Of  course,"  he  added,  "trade  is  a  good  thing 


340  OLD  EBENEZER 

in  its  way,  a  sort  of  necessity,  but  the  English  have 
the  right  idea  of  it,  after  all — drawing  a  distinction 
between  the  tradesman  and  the  gentleman.  I  re 
member  a  remark  old  Sam  Johnson  made  concern 
ing  a  fellow  who  had  grown  rich  enough  to  stop 
buying  and  selling — 'he  had  lost  the  servility  of  the 
tradesman  without  having  acquired  the  manners 
of  a  gentleman'." 

McElwin  bit  his  lip.  "I  didn't  mean  any  of 
fense,"  he  said. 

"Oh,  surely  not,  and  I  have  taken  none.  By  the 
way,  Mr.  McElwin,  Chancery  court  will  meet  next 
Monday." 

"Ah!     I  had  quite  forgotten  it.     Time  does  fly, 


sir." 


"Yes,  and  circumstances  change,  and  men  bow  to 
circumstances." 

"You  are  quite  right,  Mr.  Lyman.  And  that  re 
minds  me  that  I  have  been  forced  through  a  change 
concerning  Mr.  Sawyer.  I  honor  him  on  some 
grounds,  you  understand,  but  his  confession  of 
drunkenness  shocked  me  greatly.  In  fact,  sir,  I 
am  glad  he  did  not  marry  my  daughter." 

"When  I  spoke  of  the  meeting  of  the  court,"  said 


OLD  EBENEZER  341 

Lyman,  pretending  to  have  paid  no  attention  to 
McElwin's  remark  concerning  Sawyer,  "I  wished 
to  remind  you  of  the  petiton  for  divorce." 

"Yes,  quite  right,"  McElwin  replied,  uncrossing 
his  legs  and  putting  out  his  hand  as  if  uncon 
sciously  feeling  for  his  dignity,  to  pull  it  back  to 
him. 

"Is  the  paper  which  your  daughter  signed  here 
or  at  your  home?" 

"At  home,  I  think;  yes,  I  am  quite  sure  of  it." 

"Then  would  you  mind  walking  up  there  with 
me  so  that  I  may  sign  it?" 

"Why — er,  not  at  all,  sir,  but  we  have  plenty  of 
time." 

"No,"  Lyman  insisted,  "it  is  better  to  have  it  over 
with ;  and  I  ask  your  pardon  for  not  having  signed 
it  sooner." 

The  banker  got  up,  took  down  his  hat,  brushed 
it  with  the  sleeve  of  his  coat  and  announced  his 
readiness  to  go.  Together  they  walked  out.  Ly 
man  assumed  an  unwonted  gaiety.  He  commented 
humorously  upon  the  tradesmen  standing  in  their 
doors.  The  banker  strove  to  laugh,  but  his  heart 
was  not  in  the  effort.  "Yes,  sir,"  said  he,  "things 


342  OLD  EBENEZER 

change  and  women  change,  too.  And  I  may  make 

bold  to  say  that  my  daughter — and  my  wife,  sir 

are  not  exceptions  to  the — er,  rule." 

"I  don't  quite  understand,"  said  Lyman. 

"I  mean,  sir,  that  what  at  one  time  might  have 
been  distasteful  may  have  become  a — er — matter  of 
endearment,  you  understand." 

"I  don't  know  that  I  do,"  the  cruel  tormenter  re 
plied. 

"A  woman's  nature  is  a  peculiar  thing — a  roman 
tic  thing,  I  might  almost  say.  My  daughter  is 
strangely  influenced  by  romance,  sir.  And  her  pe 
culiar  relationship  to — ahem — yourself,  I  might 
say—" 

"You  mean  that  outrageous  affair  at  old  Jasper's 
house,"  Lyman  broke  in. 

"Well,  the  odd — you  understand — marriage. 
Yes,  it  has  made  quite  a  different  person  of  her,  I 
might  say.  Really,  I  was  in  hopes — it  came  upon 
me  latterly,  you  observe,  or  I  mean  you  under 
stand — that  we  might  come  to  some  adjustment — " 

"We  will,"  Lyman  interrupted.  "I  am  more 
than  willing  to  sign  the  petition." 

"You  are  very  kind,  and  I  thank  you — yes,  very 


OLD  EBENEZER  343 

considerate — but  my  daughter  has  changed  greatly 
since  then,  and  I  have  lately  indulged  a  hope  to 
gether  with  my  wife  that  we  might  throw  open  our 
home  to  you — ahem — you  understand." 

"We  can  settle  it  today/  said  Lyman.  "I  believe 
you  told  me  once  that  I  ought  to  go  away,  or 
sent  some  word  of  that  sort,  I  don't  remember 
which,  and  I  am  now  ready  to  take  your  advice." 

The  banker  sighed,  and  they  walked  along  in 
silence  until  they  came  to  the  gate  of  Eva's  home. 

"Walk  in,"  said  McElwin. 

They  stepped  upon  the  veranda  and  Lyman  saw 
Eva  sitting  in  the  parlor.  She  came  running  to 
meet  him,  forgetful  of  everything — came  running 
with  her  hands  held  out. 

"He  has  come  to  sign  the  petition,"  said  the 
banker  in  a  dry  voice.  "Where  is  your  mother?" 

She  drew  back.  "In  the  garden  I  think,"  she 
answered. 

"I  will  go  after  her,"  said  McElwin. 

He  walked  away,  heavy  of  foot.  Eva  turned  to 
Lyman  and  asked  him  to  sit  down.  He  did 
so,  and  she  remained  standing.  It  reminded 
him  of  the  night  when  they  had  met  at  the 
lantern  .picnic,  only  their  position  now  were  re- 


344  OLD  EI3ENEZER 

versed,  for  then  he  had  remained  standing  while 
she  sat  looking  up  at  him.  He  took  up  a  volume 
of  Tennyson  and  opened  it,  and  between  the  pages 
in  front  of  him  lay  a  faded  clover  bloom. 

"A  memory?"  he  asked,  looking  at  her. 

"Yes,  a  beautiful  memory.  Some  one  plucked 
it,  threw  it  up  and  it  fell  in  my  lap — one  day  at  the 
creek." 

He  looked  at  her  searchingly.  They  heard  Mc- 
Elwin  in  the  garden  calling  his  wife,  "Lucy,  oh, 
Lucy.  Where  are  you?" 

"Eva,  I  have  not  been  honorable  with  you — I 
have  held  you  not  as  a  protector — I  have  held  you 
selfishly — I  love  you." 

"Lucy,  where  are  you?"  the  banker  called. 

"I  have  not  dared  to  hope  that  you  could  love 
me — I'm  old  and  ugly.  But  I  worshipped  you  and 
I  can  not  set  you  free.  I  told  your  father  that  I 
would  come  to  sign  the  paper,  and  I  spoke  sarcas 
tically  to  him,  but  I  will  beg  his  pardon,  for  I  honor 
him." 

"Lucy,  come  here,  quick!"  the  banker  shouted 
in  the  garden. 

'"'You  did  not  think  I  could  love  you,"  she  said, 
looking  at  him  frankly,  her  eyes  full  of  surprise  antf 


OLD  EBENEZER 


345 


happiness;  "y°11  did  not  know  me.  I  told  my 
mother  that  with  you  life  would  be  joyous  in  a 
shanty.  Oh,  my  husband." 

He  got  up  quietly,  the  tears  streaming  down  his 

face  —  he  held  out  his  arms. 

******** 

"Lucy,  he  has  come  to  sign  the  paper." 
They  were  standing  in  the  garden  walk.     She 
was  almost  breathless,  having  run  to  meet  him. 
"Oh,  he  must  not,"  she  said.     "It  will  kill  her." 

"He  is  going  to  sign  it  and  we  must  be  brave. 
Wait  here  till  I  fetch  it,"  he  said  when  they  reached 
the  rear  veranda.  She  waited,  tearful,  trembling. 
He  came  with  the  paper  and  they  stepped  into  the 
parlor.  Lyman  stood  with  his  back  toward  them, 
his  arms  about  Eva,  her  face  hidden  in  his  bosom. 
Mrs.  McElwin  held  up  her  hands  and  then  bowed 
her  head  with  a  whispered,  "Thank  God."  The 
banker  stood  there,  quickly,  but  without  noise,  tear 
ing  the  paper  into  bits.  His  wife  held  her  arms 
out  toward  him.  He  opened  his  hand  and  the  bits 
of  paper  fluttered  to  the  floor. 

THE  END. 


THE  UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


